


A Million Ways to Go

by ChasingRabbits



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Bisexual Dean, Blow Jobs, Bottom Castiel, Bottom Dean, Depression, Drug Use, Dysfunctional Family, Family Drama, Ghosts, Hand Jobs, Human Castiel, Human Gabriel, Hunters & Hunting, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Recreational Drug Use, Suicidal Thoughts, Supernatural Elements, Top Castiel, Top Dean, Underage - Freeform, Underage Drinking, Underage Drug Use, Underage Sex, Young Castiel, Young Dean Winchester, Young Love, Young Sam Winchester, blatant blasphemy, preacher's son Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-17
Updated: 2014-05-14
Packaged: 2018-01-04 22:04:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 91,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1086183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChasingRabbits/pseuds/ChasingRabbits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel Novak is a preacher's son living in a world of black and white. Pragmatic and dutiful, he doesn't understand why anybody would want to make waves. </p><p>Then the Winchesters move in down the street. Soon many of the skeletons in the Novak family's closet are exposed, and as the family faces them, Castiel begins to understand that there are many ways to see the world and so many more ways to live than what he's been told.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I Am an Island

**Author's Note:**

> I Am a Rock by Paul Simon
> 
> "I have my books  
> And my poetry to protect me;  
> I am shielded in my armor,  
> Hiding in my room, safe within my womb.  
> I touch no one and no one touches me."

Michael left for basic training two weeks before they ended up having to bury Lucifer.

Castiel had only been ten when it happened. Without Michael to act as Lucifer’s catalyst, he had started taking out most of his aggression on their father. They had fought through dinner and into the evening, about what Castiel can’t remember, and then Lucifer was just gone.

Castiel remembers watching that fight from the top of the stairs with Anna. She was only six then, still trying to stop sucking her thumb, calm only because Castiel had agreed to braid her hair.

Gabriel, barely a year older than Castiel, sat at the bottom of the stairs, knees drawn to his chest, staring moodily at the scene through the banister.

He told Castiel that Lucifer was on drugs during dinner, that that’s why he was acting so strange. That’s why he’d made their mother cry, why Raph was trying desperately both to calm her and keep Lucifer in line.

Lucifer was sixteen and angry.

And now that’s all he’ll ever be.

Gabe grew out of being a surly pre-teen, Anna grew out of sucking her thumb, but Lucifer will always be angry.

The church was always supportive, at least.

Dad had been a pastor since before Castiel or Gabriel. When his congregation heard of the tragedy that had befallen the Novak family, it had been a never-ending parade of visitors in the house. Gabriel would hide in his room, and Raph would play the good son while Michael was gone; Anna would curl up with their mother on the couch as she sobbed through yet another prayer, and Castiel just sat at the top of the stairs and watched.

He listened as Dad told them how wrong Lucifer had been, how confused and off the path he had been.

The word ‘Devil’ was definitely thrown around.

“Aren’t you guys the ones who named him _Lucifer?”_ Gabriel had challenged one night at dinner.

“Lucifer was an angel,” their mother had replied very calmly, and left it at that.

But Castiel absorbed it all.

What Lucifer did was wrong. He was bad. And if he did as Dad said and didn’t stray from the word of God, he would be okay. He would be good.

That’s how he finds himself waking up every morning until he’s sixteen, obediently shutting off his alarm and marching past Gabriel, still asleep, to brush his teeth and wash up for the day ahead. Get dressed, eat breakfast, check homework, and get Anna to school.

That’s what he’s supposed to do.

“Got your homework?” Castiel asks before he even gets into the kitchen. There he finds his breakfast waiting on the table, and his mom and Anna peering out the kitchen window. “What’s going on here?” he pokes his head above the both of them, trying to get a glimpse of what’s going on outside.

“They finally sold Maureen’s old place,” says his mom, clutching the golden cross that has hung around her neck since before Castiel can remember. “So much tragedy in that house… We should go over and introduce ourselves, hm?”

“We kind of have school, don’t we?” comes Gabriel’s groggy voice. He zombie shuffles past them and pours some coffee into a travel mug.

He does it up with titanic amounts of cream and sugar and, Castiel swears, a couple of squirts of chocolate syrup.

“Gabriel, please,” their mother chastises. “You’re getting enough of a Buddha belly as it is without all of that.”

Castiel glances back just long enough to see Gabriel rub the tension out from behind his eyes.

“All right, train’s leaving,” Gabriel pockets his keys and grabs his bag from the hook by the door. “All aboard the Fatass Express.”

“Gabriel!” their mother chastises. “Language.”

“Oh, fat’s not a bad word,” Gabriel reassures her lightly. “We’re taking it back.”

Castiel has to stifle his own laugh at that.

“Come home right after school,” calls their mother. “We’re taking a pie over there before dinner.”

“Can’t wait,” Gabriel grumbles as he pushes past Castiel. He wears what he fell asleep in, baggy jeans and a baggy sweater. He ties the whole thing together with a pair of ratty slip-on Vans that he bought with his own money two years ago and thus refuses to stop wearing.

As with most of the things they own, however, Gabriel’s car is a hand-me-down from someone at church, a tan 1982 Honda Civic that’s more trouble than it’s worth. But their congregation is big on lending a helping hand, and when someone isn’t using something, they’re more than willing to supply a Brother or Sister in Christ.

In Gabriel’s words, _“I just need a goddamn machine that’ll get me out of here once in a while.”_

The first time he saw it, Castiel didn’t even have to say anything before Gabriel deflated and confessed, “ _I know. It’s a piece of shit.”_

Piece of shit though it may be, it does get them from point A to point B.

Eyeing their piece of shit happens to be a shadowy kid in front of Maureen Porter’s old house. Castiel can’t explain why, but he thinks the kid is looking him in the eye all the way from three houses down.

“Whaddya say, monkey,” Gabriel addresses Anna as they approach the car. “Wanna make Cassie sit in the back today?”

Castiel snaps their attention back to the both of them. Anna giggles as Gabriel bounces his eyebrows over the tops of his sunglasses.

“Hey-o,” Gabriel whistles, and Castiel jumps. “The lady’s riding shotgun today.”

“Fine,” Castiel nods. Anna’s school isn’t far away, and he has the rest of the drive to their school to sit up front with Gabriel anyway.

He looks back toward the shadowy boy and sees him heft up a box and carry it inside the house.

“Yo, Cassymandias, let’s get the lead out,” Gabriel bangs on the hood of the car, and Castiel nods. He slips into the back seat and shuts the door.

As they drive past the newly inhabited house, Castiel only gets one last glimpse of the boy before Gabriel turns the corner and tears off down the street.

“Gabriel, slow down,” Castiel admonishes.

“No, faster!” Anna cheers.

“The lady is my copilot, Cas,” Gabriel shrugs. “Nothing much I can do but give her what she wants.”

Of course, now is the time Castiel’s car sickness would choose to rear its ugly head. He breathes in and out methodically, trying to drown out the sound of Gabriel’s awful Top 40 radio station and focus on not throwing up.

At least he didn’t eat breakfast.

They pull up to Anna’s school, and being that Gabe is only allowed to stop long enough for Anna to get out of the car safely, Castiel has to climb up into the front seat while Gabriel flips a U-turn in the middle of the street.

Several parents honk at him, but Gabriel proudly brandishes his middle finger out the window.

“You know,” Castiel buckles himself in. “One day someone’s going to shoot that thing right off your hand.”

“Good,” Gabriel nods. “I hope they make it into a fine trinket they can carry with them for the rest of their days.”

Castiel sighs and holds his bag to his chest.

“Ah, we’re going with brooding today,” Gabriel nods. “A fine choice.”

“I’m not brooding,” Castiel shifts. “I’d just rather not go to school today.”

“So let’s not,” Gabriel shrugs, interest straightening his spine. “I’m serious, let’s ditch.”

The suggestion alone is enough to turn Castiel’s stomach. He’s a junior; this is when classes really start to count. He can’t look Gabriel in the face as he shakes his head.

“I’m sorry, Gabriel,” he sighs. “Just because I don’t want to do something doesn’t mean I just shouldn’t.”

“Man, that’s for, like, killing people and shit,” says Gabriel. “Not for not wanting to go to school.”

Castiel sighs and thunks his head against the seat. That’s how Lucifer got started, he remembers. One Sunday Lucifer decided to skip out on church, and then pretty soon he was throwing around swears and coming home smelling like no cigarettes Castiel had ever smelled before.

The rules are in place for a reason, Dad always says. Stick to the rules and you can’t go wrong.

And so the day passes uneventfully. He goes to his classes, takes notes, engages when he must, and ends on a pretty neutral note. Castiel weaves through his fellow students quicker than normal; their mom wants them home early, after all.

Gabriel is already sitting on the hood of the car in the parking lot when he arrives, sunglasses down over his eyes as he checks his phone.

“Ahoy,” Gabriel whistles and tosses the keys at Castiel.

“I can drive?” he asks.

“Yup,” Gabriel nods and slides off the car. “I’m high as balls, I should not be behind the wheel of an automobile. Let’s go.”

Castiel’s face falls at this.

He knows Gabriel uses drugs, has known that about him for a while now, but it’s really starting to grate on him. He ducks behind the steering wheel and buckles in, adjusting all of his mirrors and checking them thrice over.

“Fuckin’ A, who do you think I am, the damn Gestapo?” Gabriel perches his sunglasses atop his head. “Drive the fuckin’ car before nightfall, please.”

Castiel rolls his eyes and puts the car in reverse, backing up just as he’s been instructed to do many times before. He likes driving, it’s easy. There are simple steps to follow, and if you adhere to them you’re less likely to smash into inanimate objects.

Like Gabriel.

“Not bad, kid,” Gabriel nods as they pull out onto the street. “Keep it up and we’ll be home just in time for my ninetieth birthday.”

“Does that stuff make you a jerk?” Castiel grips the steering wheel tightly.

“What, pot?” Gabriel asks. “Hell no. Pot makes me awesome. Being a jerk is what makes me a jerk.”

“I don’t think pot makes anyone awesome,” Castiel says, voice wavering through his attempts to be calm.

Gabriel looks over at him and just blows a laugh through his lips. “Man, don’t judge,” he flicks his sunglasses down over his eyes again. “S’not your place.”

And though the words are meant to be biting, they offer Castiel a sort of comfort. Judgment is reserved only for God, and if Gabriel is telling him that it’s not his place to judge, maybe he hasn’t lost his faith.

The street is quiet when Castiel parks in front of the house. He looks automatically back at the newly occupied house and finds himself disappointed that there’s no sign of the boy from earlier.

“Hey,” Gabriel waves him over. “How’s it smell, do I smell clean?”

Castiel makes a face, “Please don’t make me do this.”

Gabriel makes him smell his sweatshirt anyway, and his hair. It smells foul, like he hasn’t showered in days.

Probably because he hasn’t.

“No smell of any illicit activity at all,” he grabs his nose and tries to snort the stench of Gabriel’s body odor out of his nostrils.

“Eye check,” Gabriel lowers his sunglasses, and Castiel shakes his head.

“Better keep those on,” he says. Gabriel nods and pushes them back up his nose.

Inside it’s as quiet as it is on the street.

“Mom?” Castiel calls. “Gabriel and I are home. Mom? Anna?”

“Ah, Jesus,” Castiel hears Gabriel say from the living room. Castiel follows him and stops at the sight that immediately greets him.

Their mother sleeps soundly on the couch, an empty glass of wine on the coffee table and—Castiel checks the level—an empty wine bottle too.

“That means Anna is still at school,” Castiel pulls out his phone. Sure enough, there’s a message from a blocked number in his voicemail.

“Cas, mom forgot to pick me up again. I’m at Sophie’s. Her mom said I could stay for dinner.”

A breath of relief escapes him.

But then they’re still left with their mother passed out on the couch.

“Should we leave her?” Castiel grabs the back of his neck. Gabriel pushes his glasses up onto his head again with a resigned sigh.

“Get her on her side,” he says. “That way if she gets sick, she can’t choke on it.”

“Gross,” Castiel’s nose wrinkles of its own accord, and Gabriel shrugs.

“Shit happens when you party hard.”

The timer in the kitchen beeps, and in some Pavlovian response their mother sits up.

“Pie’s cooled,” she mutters to herself. She sees Castiel and Gabriel standing beside her and frowns. “Why aren’t you in school?”

“It’s four o’clock, school’s out,” Castiel explains. “Anna is at Sophie’s for dinner.”

Mom’s face scrunches up, and before either Gabriel or Castiel knows what’s happening, she’s crying. Gabriel rolls his eyes, because this is not the first time they have caught their mother inebriated and self pitying.

“Come on, mom,” Castiel hoists her up, draping one of her skinny arms over his shoulders. “We’ll get you into bed before dad gets home.”

Gabriel stands back and puts up his hands, dismissing himself from the situation. There’s hurt in Gabriel, he knows, like there’s hurt in all of them. That doesn’t give him the right to just step away and pretend otherwise.

But Castiel helps his mother up to her room without any grief anyway, because that’s what a good son does.

“Honey, will you take the pie?” his mom asks as Castiel helps her into bed. “I don’t want anyone to see me like this.”

And while the voice in Castiel’s head says, ‘Then you shouldn’t let yourself get here,’ he nods and says, “Of course.”

Because someone has to.

Except when Castiel comes downstairs to retrieve the pie, Gabriel has already taken a giant forkful out of the crust.

“Gabriel!”

Gabriel looks up, crust flaked on his lips, and says, “I’m not sure this is my fault.”

“Crap,” Castiel sighs. “We were supposed to take this to the new neighbors.”

“We should have,” Gabriel nods. “It’s really good. Woulda been their favorite people.”

Castiel gives him an imploring look, and Gabriel holds up a placating hand.

“Don’t worry, I got this,” he reassures Castiel. “You just sit, do your homework or whatever it is you mega-nerds do—“

“I am not a mega-nerd,” Castiel insists, but as he says it he realizes that he has a heap of reading to tackle for AP Literature and an SAT prep book he hasn’t even opened yet.

“Don’t you worry your pretty little head about a thing,” Gabriel claps his cheeks in his hands. “It’s all going to be okay.”

Castiel sincerely doubts that, but Gabriel does know his way around a kitchen. He gathers supplies expertly and gets to work. He doesn’t need recipes, just a little time and the right ingredients.

It’s actually pretty impressive.

The sun dips low and dyes the sky orange, and soon the aroma of chocolate fills the kitchen.

“Those don’t smell like mom’s brownies,” says Castiel ever-so helpfully from his place at the kitchen table. He’s since busied himself with his AP US History homework, but the smell of Gabriel’s baking is enough rouse him from even his deepest concentration.

“They’re not mom’s brownies,” Gabriel just replies.

They cool off and Gabriel arranges them on a plate, not as nicely as mom would, but presentable at least.

Castiel’s hands start shaking as he and Gabriel leave the house and walk across the street.

What if that kid answers the door and Castiel has to explain why he was staring at him earlier?

But they’re at the door now, and Castiel can’t turn back. He also can’t leave Gabriel to do this alone, because Gabriel lacks tact in all its forms. He’d just hand off the brownies and possibly offend whomever he gave them to.

Castiel knocks with one of his shaking hands and takes a breath.

A few moments pass, and a gruff voice comes from the other side, “We’re not interested.”

“We’re not selling anything,” Castiel replies. “We’re your neighbors.”

The door opens a crack, locked still by a chain.

Crap, it _is_ the boy from earlier.

“What is that?” he indicates the plate in Castiel’s hands.

“Brownies,” Castiel replies. “Our mother asked us to bring pie, but there was a bit of a snafu and we brought you brownies instead.”

“Jesus,” Gabriel puts his face in his hands when the door shuts. “You wanna give him your entire life story?”

The door swings open then and Castiel hands over the plate of brownies.

“I’m Castiel,” he introduces himself. “This is my brother Gabriel. We live in that green house over there.”

Castiel points, and the boy nods.

“Right,” he says. “You were the guys driving that piece of shit hatchback this morning.”

The boy sticks out his hand, “Dean Winchester.”

Castiel takes it, and swallows hard when Dean’s grip squeezes his hand.

He sees Gabriel give him a look out of the corner of his eye and immediately withdraws.

“These look good,” says Dean. He brings the plate to his nose and sniffs, only to go still.

He looks up at the both of them.

“Are you welcoming us to the neighborhood with pot brownies?”

Castiel’s eyes go big as he turns to look at Gabriel. He looks just as alarmed, but where Castiel’s instincts leave him petrified they send Gabriel running back toward their house.

Dean, to Castiel’s relief, doesn’t freak out. He smiles—laughs, actually.

“He runs pretty fast,” Dean remarks.

“I am so sorry,” Castiel blurts. “I-I watched him make those, I don’t know what happened.”

“Hey man, don’t worry about it,” Dean looks back to the brownies. “It’s actually kind of awesome, I was wondering what the hell I was gonna do with my Friday night.”

Castiel suddenly wishes Gabriel hadn’t run now.

“You want?” Dean offers, and Castiel shakes his head.

“Like I said, it was Gabriel,” he explains. “Our mom did make you a pie, but…”

He trails off as soon as Dean’s eyes meet his. That’s a little too familiar, he thinks. Being polite doesn’t have to mean airing his family’s dirty laundry.

And Dean’s eyes are a shade of green he’s never seen in person before, and that makes it hard to focus on anything but that.

It’s becoming too long since either of them has spoken, and wow Castiel has never wanted Gabriel next to him as badly as he does now. Gabriel is good with people, and with making conversation, and with being in a moment in ways that Castiel just isn’t.

“You wanna come in?” Dean asks. “Everything’s a mess, but my dad’s out. And you can meet Sam.”

“Thanks, but I’d better not,” Castiel can’t look away from Dean’s face, and so he sees immediately the lightning quick pinch between his brows. “I just have a lot of work to do is all.”

“On a Friday?” Dean asks, and Castiel nods. “Well, all right, man. It was nice meeting you. Castiel, right?”

“Yes, Dean,” Castiel repeats Dean’s name, and tries not to let on that his underarms have just started to perspire profusely.

“And hey,” Dean calls when Castiel is halfway to the sidewalk. “You wanna welcome the rest of my family to the neighborhood, you should definitely bring something a little less organic next time.”

“We don’t buy organic baking products,” Castiel frowns, and Dean rolls his eyes.

“A little less grass next time, Poindexter.”

The door shuts, and Castiel’s cheeks flush.

What exactly is a Poindexter? And why does he feel like he has a fever all of a sudden?

He walks back home and locks the door behind him. There’s no sign of Gabriel anywhere, but Dad is home now. He’s going through the mail on the kitchen counter, but sees Castiel out of the corner of his eye.

“Hey there, Cas.”

Crap.

“Hi, Dad,” Castiel stands in the kitchen doorway. “How was your day?”

“Oh, fine,” he replies. “I’m officiating the Keller-Marcus wedding tomorrow, so I’ve been dealing with that all day.”

He turns to Castiel and looks over the tops of his reading glasses, “And how are you?”

Castiel remembers very little of Lucifer, but he remembers that he and Dad shared that same look. There was no hiding anything from Lucifer, and there’s no hiding anything from Dad.

“Just came from dropping off something for the new neighbors,” Castiel replies honestly. Dad doesn’t need to know how the new neighbor boy’s smile stretches over his face, or if you look closely you can see freckles dusted over the bridge of his nose.

“Good boy,” Dad nods. “Gabe go with you?”

“No,” Castiel does lie that time. He’s in the habit of lying for Gabriel now, though. Dad just looks at him again, but says nothing.

“Looks like your mom’s not feeling well,” he just continues. “Guess the boys are on their own for dinner tonight.”

He chuckles like he doesn’t know mom is passed out in their bed.

At which point Castiel excuses himself and heads upstairs.

Gabriel slips off his headphones when Castiel enters their room, and breathes a sigh of relief.

“I thought you were right behind me,” he says. “Then I get up here and see you’re still standing there.”

Castiel looks out their window. Indeed there is a perfect view of the Winchesters’ house from here.

“Hey, pervert,” Gabriel barks, and Castiel jumps back.

Crap on a stick.

“God, I could see you drooling from here,” Gabriel smirks. “Can’t blame you, he was what you’d call sexy.”

“Gabe,” Castiel warns.

“Hey, man, takes all kinds,” Gabriel shrugs.

Castiel grabs a pillow off of his bed and hurls it at Gabriel.

“Hey, I’m being supportive!”

“You don’t have anything to support, Gabriel,” Castiel insists very firmly.

“Whatever you say,” Gabriel laughs. “Just remember to send me a postcard from Boner City before you leave.”

Castiel throws his other pillow for that.

**oo**

On Saturday mornings, Castiel mows the lawn. It’s a simple enough task, methodical enough that it puts his mind at ease. It’s his and Gabriel’s responsibility to divvy up the yard work, but these days Castiel ends up doing most of it while Gabriel lounges on one of the low branches of the tree in their front yard.

Today, Castiel is pretty sure he’s in a vicious text-fight with his not-girlfriend Kali.

They’ve been on-again, off-again for the better part of two years now. Castiel is kind of impressed that Gabriel has been able to hide a girl from their parents for so long. It probably has a lot to do with the fact that Kali is Hindu and they would have a heart attack if they knew their son was sticking it in a non-Christian.

They’d probably just be alarmed that he was sticking it anywhere to begin with.

Castiel tries to just focus on mowing the lawn. Mowing the lawn makes sense. It never changes, and it needs to be done if everything is going to maintain some semblance of order. Right now, everything else can wait.

Except, Dean Winchester chooses that exact moment to leave his house, accompanied by a scrawny kid carrying a baseball mitt and a ball.

They’re playing catch.

Castiel tries to finish the lawn as quickly as possible, but Dean sees him anyway and gives him a wave.

Castiel waves back.

The moment he switches off the lawn mower, he sees Dean hold up a finger and jog over toward him.

Oh, boy.

“Hey, Castiel,” he greets.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel shields his eyes from the sun. He’s sweaty and caked in grass clippings and dirt.

He doesn’t know why he cares.

“Me an’ Sammy were just playing catch,” says Dean. “Was wondering if you knew any good places to get breakfast around here. Don’t know the area too well yet.”

“Oh,” Castiel frowns. He’s about to say he doesn’t know much in the way of dining establishments when his phone buzzes in his pocket. “Hang on, sorry.”

A text message.

‘he wants ur dick’

Castiel looks over at Gabriel, who whistles to himself as he scrolls through something on his phone.

“You know,” Castiel pockets his phone again, “I don’t know a lot about the food around here, but Gabriel might.”

They look over at Gabriel, and Dean shouts, “Hey, Gabe!”

Gabriel’s eyes flick up from his phone, and he hops down off the tree branch.

“Well, hey Dean,” he returns, way too saccharine. “Nice to see you again.”

“Yeah,” Dean’s lips quirk up into a smile that makes Castiel’s heart thump hard. Boys don’t want to cover other boys’ mouths with their mouths, that’s just not what nature intended.

“Dean.”

Castiel looks over and sees the shrimpy kid now at Dean’s side.

“Hey Sammy, these are our neighbors,” Dean claps Sam between his narrow shoulder blades. “This is Gabe and Cas.”

“Hi,” is all Sam offers, while Castiel tries not to worry himself over Dean calling him Cas.

Most people do.

It just sounds nicer coming from Dean.

Crap, here comes that phantom fever again.

“Okay,” Gabriel begins, obviously now having a conversation with Dean that Castiel has tuned out. He thinks he’s pointing Dean in the direction of that place that serves the best chocolate chip pancakes either of them has ever had.

Sam looks entirely too uncomfortable for Castiel to ignore.

“Are you in middle school?” he asks, and Sam nods.

“Seventh grade,” he says, and looks up at Castiel. “Are people nice here?”

Oh, boy. This kid has a serious case of puppy dog face, and it’s working its hellacious magic on Castiel fast.

“I’m the wrong person to talk to about that,” he admits. “I’m not entirely fond of people.”

Wait, why would he say that? To a kid, no less.

“What I mean to say,” he attempts to back pedal. “I mostly just go to class and do my homework. I like it that way, though.”

Sam doesn't reply.  
  
"If you want to meet some friends," Castiel continues at the dejected look on Sam's face. "Our church puts on a lot of youth stuff."  
  
Sam makes a face at that and looks back toward his house. He appears deep in thought before he turns back to Castiel and says, "What kind of youth stuff?"  
  
"Barbecues in the summer, people seem to like those," Castiel digs through his memory. "Scavenger hunts, picnics, and once a year we go camping."  
  
"Is it fun?" asks Sam.  
  
"Not really," Castiel shakes his head. Castiel hates camping. He hates the dirt and and the campfire and having to cook food over a large open flame. He almost put out Hester Lane's eye last year when his marshmallow caught fire and he tried to blow it out.  
Apparently waving around a stick of molten sugar was not the way to go about that.  
  
"Then why do you go?" Sam's brows crunch together, and for that Castiel finds he has no good answer.  
  
"I'm the designated Kumbaya guitarist," he supplies instead, which isn't untrue, and Sam cracks a smile.  
  
When Castiel turns his attention back to Gabriel and Dean, they're exchanging phone numbers.  
  
"Man, just gimme a call and I'll hook you up," says Gabriel. "My guy is awesome."  
  
Oh, no.  
  
"Cool," Dean nods and gives Gabriel a smile.  
  
That is a very, very nice smile.  
  
"Sammy, let's go get some fuckin' waffles," Dean claps his little brother on the shoulder. "Gabe, you're a saint. Cas," Dean looks Castiel right in the eye, "Always a pleasure."  
  
Castiel doesn't realize he's been holding his breath until Dean and Sam are back across the street and he suddenly can't get enough air.  
  
"It's okay, Cassie," Gabriel lays a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Just a good-looking young man on the hunt for waffles and drugs. You'll be all right."  
  
Castiel sincerely doubts that.  
  
 **oo**  
  
The church band consists of a drummer, a bassist, a keyboardist, a singer, and two guitarists.  
  
Castiel plays first guitar.  
  
Castiel is also the youngest person in the band by about ten years.  
  
Nobody wanted Lucifer's old guitar, and it seemed like a waste to get rid of it. Castiel liked the way his brother played, so he begged and begged and begged his parents for guitar lessons. It's the only thing he ever really wanted, and it still is one of the only things that makes him truly happy.  
  
He does get a little tired of playing church songs, though. They're not that challenging, and though he sings along with them and knows all the lyrics by heart, his lips always fight to wrap around the words.  
  
He's sung 'In Christ Alone' enough times. Unless he's having a stroke, he doesn't know why his mouth won't cooperate.  
  
Normally church is enough to keep his mind off of everything, but today all his thoughts are with Dean.  
  
He saw him again yesterday when he was taking out the trash.  
  
Castiel almost tripped over his feet coming back up the walk to the house.  
  
Church should be able to keep his mind out of places it shouldn't be. He just needs to re-focus, is all. He can't be expected to worship if he's thinking about licking the freckles right off of Dean's face.  
  
His finger slips and he strums out the wrong chord, earning him a look from Dale beside him.  
  
Dad steps behind the podium once again after the song has finished.  
  
"Isn't God good?" he marvels out at the congregation. "He has bestowed His grace upon us, and let me tell you. He knows we don't deserve it. He knows we're sinful, knows all of our faults that we've had in the past, had now, or will ever have, and yet still He offers us salvation. That is the ultimate definition of His Love, of his mercy: forgiving the undeserving."  
  
Castiel shifts in his seat. He dislikes these sermons very, very much. He never needs to be reminded that people are undeserving, though it's never been entirely clear to Castiel why God decides to do the saving anyway.

"He is our Father," Dad explains. "And as we know, dads are very wise, but sometimes very hands off. Like any dad, God wants you to make your own decisions."

The congregation chuckles at that, and Castiel's mind starts working overtime.  
  
He knows if he thinks too hard about what Dad's saying that he'll wind up in trouble again. It's best just to take what he says and trust that it's what's right.  
  
Right?  
  
He has to get up and leave at that thought. He can just tell everyone he had a stomach cramp and had to go outside and stretch. Again, it's not a total lie.  
  
His mom will at least buy it.  
  
He steps ouside into the open air and lets out a sigh of relief. It can get so stuffy in there sometimes.  
  
"Need some air?" asks an all-too familiar voice, and Castiel jumps.  
  
What the hell is Dean Winchester doing at his church?  
  
"Sammy wouldn't stop bugging me until I agreed to take him this morning," Dean yawns. "Said you said he could make friends here."  
  
"I did," Castiel nods.  
  
"Thanks for that," Dean comes back, sarcasm dripping from every word.  
  
"He can make friends here," says Castiel. "Technically, you can make friends anywhere. Here just happens to be a collection of young people his age who are very friendly."  
  
The doors to the church open again and Sam walks out, hands stuffed in the pockets of his ratty jeans.  
  
"Well, that was a load of bullshit," he says, and looks over at Castiel. "Hi, Cas."  
  
"Hello, Sam."  
  
"Oh, thank God," Dean slumps against the tree beside him. "Don't ever make me think you're gonna go Kirk Cameron on me again."  
  
"Who?" Castiel asks, and Dean looks at him.  
  
"Growing Pains?" Dean offers, as though that's supposed to explain anything, and Castiel shrugs. "80s sitcom?"  
  
"I don't watch a lot of TV," Castiel replies, and Dean just narrows his eyes.  
  
And then, like he's just come down with a migraine, rubs the side of his head.  
  
"What are you doing?"  
  
"You don't watch TV?" Dean asks, as though it's painful even to say the words. "What do you do with yourself?"  
  
"Mostly, I do homework," Castiel says truthfully.  
  
This appears to be an even worse thing to say.  
  
"And play guitar," Sam points out. "You must, if you're that good."  
  
Castiel shifts. He doesn't like talking about music. He doesn't write his own, he just learns what's on the page. Yes, he is better at it than he expected to be, but that's only because there is a way to play. If you do everything properly, it all sounds beautiful; stray and you don't know what you'll get.  
  
"I need to go back inside," he says.  
  
"Hey," Dean calls after him, and Castiel turns back. "You okay?"  
  
"I'll be fine," he returns. "See you around, Dean. Sam."  
  
He's shaking as he comes back into the church and takes a seat beside Gabriel. Anna has already left with the Sunday school kids, which means he still has another half an hour of the sermon to go.  
  
Great.  
  
He kicks his feet up on the bench in front of them, though his mother always chastises him for it, and shuts his eyes.  
  
Maybe going to God on bended knee will solve this. That's what He's there for, after all. He wants Castiel to be good, to keep his thoughts pure and his intentions right. And none of that involves Dean Winchester--not in the way he's thinking, at least.  
  
Because the only thing he can think about doing on bended knee is about one of the most unsavory things he could do.  
  
Nope, there are definitely a few more things that are much worse that he could do on bended knee.  
  
Maybe this was a bad idea.  
  
Castiel opens his eyes and purposefully does not meet Gabriel's inquisitive gaze. Instead, he shifts and adjusts the folds in the front of his worn out slacks.  
  
This is officially the worst.

 


	2. It's Such a Shame

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Barley wine, pink gin,  
> He'll drink anythin',  
> Port, Pernod, or tequila.  
> Rum, scotch, vodka on the rocks,  
> As long as all his troubles disappear."
> 
> -Alcohol, by The Kinks

Castiel starts dreading school. Dean is his age as far as he can tell, and there’s only one high school in the area. Every time a classroom door opens unexpectedly, Castiel expects Dean to strut in with the vice principal, waiting to be introduced to the class.

It doesn’t happen, though, and Castiel goes from anxious to curious.

He starts watching the house down the street, because that’s so much easier than knocking on the door and asking Dean, “How come I don’t see you at school?” The Winchesters operate at odd hours of the day. He still hasn’t met the father or the mother, just seen the dad in passing when he comes and goes in the middle of the night.

“You’re breeching Creep Factor 9 here, Cas,” says Gabriel as Castiel peers through the curtains. Sam walks down the street by himself, backpack so full up it looks like he might topple over.

Castiel thinks he actually might be kicking a rock up the sidewalk as he trudges along.

Gabriel cranes his neck to see what Castiel is looking at and raises an eyebrow.

“Well, there’s our favorite little ray of sunshine.”

“I’ll be right back,” he says, and lets the curtain fall back into place.

He trots downstairs, careful to keep quiet so his mother won’t ask him where he’s going. He manages to slip out the front door and jog down the street without issue, not stopping until he’s on the Winchesters’ doorstep.

Poised to knock, Castiel takes a breath. But the door opens and he’s met with Sam holding a black trash bag in his hand.

“Hi, Cas,” he greets with a slight frown. “Dean’s not here right now.”

“Oh,” Castiel feigns surprise. “Where is he? I haven’t seen him around school.”

Sam gives him a look, “He doesn’t go to school.”

He pushes past Castiel to take the trash out to the bin on the street.

Through the crack in the door, Castiel can see their living room, laid out like his at home, only in place of a couch or a coffee table or anything homey, there are still unpacked boxes.

“See something?” asks Sam, eyebrows high on his forehead.

“Sorry,” Castiel apologizes. “I wanted to know if you wanted to come over for dinner.”

Sam blinks.

“Why?”

“Because I thought you might like to come over and have dinner,” Castiel shrugs. “My mom is making pot roast.”

Sam looks over his shoulder and back, as though he’s afraid someone is listening. He scuffs his worn sneakers on the walkway and nods.

“Okay. I have to do my homework, though,” he mutters.

“Me too,” Castiel nods. “You can bring it over and you can do it with me, if you want.”

The skeptical look crops up on Sam’s face again.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” he asks. “I don’t want to be part of your church or anything.”

“That’s fine,” Castiel reassures him. “Pot roast and potatoes aren’t contingent upon accepting Jesus as your Savior.”

Sam's lips quirk into a sort-of smile at that, and he says, "Yeah, let me get my stuff."  
  
They walk back to Castiel's house in silence, Sam occasionally looking down to kick at a rock or a tree branch and Castiel trying not to wonder if and when he'll see Dean again.  
  
Once inside, his mom corners poor Sam.   
  
"So skinny, my goodness," she puts her hands on his shoulders. "Well, don't you worry about that here. I make enough food for an army of growing boys, you eat until you turn blue, all right?"  
  
Huh.  
  
That was entirely less judgmental than Casteil expected.  
  
"Wow, your mom's really nice," Sam marvels as Castiel leads him into the living room.  
  
"Yeah, I guess she only eats her own young," Castiel mutters. He only realizes he's said this out loud when Sam laughs, and he colors. "I'm sorry, that was rude."   
  
They're not on the couch, books in their laps, for two minutes before Castiel's mom brings them each a glass of sweet tea.  
  
Sam drinks as though he's never tasted the stuff before, guzzling it down in record time. He wipes his lips on the sleeve of his jacket and shifts when he realizes that Castiel and his mom are looking at him.  
  
"It's really good," he just explains. "Thank you Mrs. Novak."  
  
"I'll bring you another glass," she hums, voice warm and sugary in a way Castiel hasn't heard in so long. She returns a few minutes later with a fresh glass of sweet tea and, what the hell, one of the snickerdoodle cookies she has had to warn her children countless times not to eat before dinner.  
  
"A little brain food," she calls it, and even Sam looks suspicious as she walks away.  
  
"Oh, God," realization dawns on him. "You didn't ask me over for dinner, you asked me over for dinner. You're fattening me up, aren't you?"  
  
"I don't--"  
  
"You don't wanna eat me, okay?" Sam leaps to his feet. "There's hardly any meat on my bones."  
  
He rolls his sleeve up to reveal one of his bony arms.  
  
"We're not cannibals," is all Castiel can think to say. This seems to bring Sam back into himself. He looks wild-eyed from Castiel to the cookie in his hand, and back again.  
  
"Sorry," Sam apologizes. He takes a bite of the cookie and, as with the sweet tea, polishes it off without another thought.  
  
"Your mom never made you snickerdoodles?" asks Castiel, and Sam just looks at him.  
  
"My mom is dead," he says.  
  
Oh.  
  
Oh.  
  
For whatever reason, to Castiel this makes more sense than anything.  
  
"I'm sorry," he murmurs. Sam doesn't reply, just curls back onto the couch with his shoulders to his ears and opens up his history textbook.  
  
Castiel thinks he might be upset, but then he starts relaying a bunch of strange facts about the middle ages in Europe and Castiel is able to relax. The kid doesn't have a mom, the last thing he wants to do on top of that is offend him.  
  
When his mom calls them to dinner, Sam sits down at the table with all the reverie of a peasant being invited to dine with the royal court. He sits beside Castiel, wriggling in his seat as one by one the rest of the Novak family joins them.  
  
"Hello there," says Dad as he sits down at the head of the table. "I don't think you're one of mine."  
  
"No, sir," Sam shakes his head.   
  
"Honey, this is Sam Winchester," says Castiel's mom as Anna comes running into the kitchen. "He and his family just moved in down the street."  
  
"Ah, the illustrious Winchesters," Dad smiles. "Ran into your dad the other day. Interesting guy."  
  
"Yeah," Sam grabs a dinner roll out of the basket in the center of the table.  
  
"What does he do?"  
  
Sam stuffs a piece of roll into his mouth and then replies very simply, "Pest control."  
  
Somehow, Castiel doesn't think that's the honest answer, but he says nothing.  
  
Gabriel is the last to join them. When he takes a dinner roll and moves to take a bite, their mother stops them.  
  
"Not before prayer, Gabriel Novak," she chastises. Sam goes still beside Castiel and puts his roll down on his plate.  
  
Castiel smiles.  
  
The dinner prayer is standard. Food nourishing bodies, thanking God for the day, for watching over them. Castiel cracks open an eye and sees Gabriel making faces at Sam across the table. Sam tries to stifle his laughter, and flips Gabriel his middle finger.  
  
It's odd to see such genuine smiles on the both of their faces, especially following such a vulgar gesture.  
  
Gabriel then catches Castiel watching them and raises his eyebrows.  
  
The three of them shut their eyes as soon as Dad says, "In Jesus' name we pray."  
  
Sam gets twice the helping that Castiel and his siblings get. His mom has always done that with guests, though, and since she's obviously convinced Sam is on the brink of starvation it's not in the least bit surprising.  
  
One by one they go around the table and recount their days. It's a lame family thing that they've always done, but Sam falls right into it. He seems taken aback that anybody would care what he's learning in school or if he's making friends.  
  
Honestly, Castiel's a little taken aback by it himself.  
  
Then again, his parents always did seem to care more about other people's children than they did their own.  
  
It's nice to see Sam smiling, though.  
  
After dinner, mom pulls a pair of pies out of the fridge and indicates one for Sam.  
  
"I heard my last one got eaten," she shoots Gabriel a pointed look. "You be sure this one makes it all the way to your house."  
  
"I will," Sam nods, and then pulls out his phone to send a text message.  
  
Except then he hands the phone to Castiel.  
  
'Oh god, she is trying to fatten me up, isn't she?'  
  
Castiel smiles and nods when he hands the phone back to Sam.  
  
"Hey, no electronics at the dinner table," says Dad. "Family rule."  
  
Sam's eyes glint at that, and he tucks his phone away.  
  
And it's because Sam is there that their mom brings out the ice cream to put on top of the pie. They each get heaping platefuls, and by the time they're done only the adults seem to be able to stand up and clear the table.  
  
"I did it, guys," Gabriel rests his forehead on the table. "I ate myself to death."  
  
"Good job," Anna pats him on the shoulder, looking a little queasy herself. "I never lost faith in you."  
  
"Your respect means the world to me, kiddo," Gabriel punctuates this with a pained groan. "Cas you may have to roll me upstairs."  
  
"That's never worked before," Castiel reminds him. He glances over at Sam, whose belly now protrudes, and offers him a smile.  
  
"I've never eaten that much in my life," he yawns, and then thanks Castiel's parents profusely for letting him eat with them.  
  
It's dark by the time anyone is comfortable enough to move, let alone walk Sam back home. Even though it's just a few houses down, Castiel feels responsible for the kid. He helps Sam pack up his stuff, and they're almost out the door when Sam sees something by the TV.  
  
"You have all the Lord of the Rings movies?!" he exclaims.  
  
"Director's cut," Castiel affirms. "Would you like to borrow them?"  
  
Sam's adamant "YES" is so loud that Gabriel actually startles out of his nap on the couch.  
  
He goes on and on about Lord of the Rings, all the way until they reach the Winchesters' house.  
  
Sam has read all the books, but only seen one of the movies.  
  
"Come on," Sam fumbles to unlock the front door. "Come up and see, I've got a giant map of Middle Earth. And my elf bow! You gotta see my elf bow!"  
  
Sam dumps his backpack by the door and sets the pie down in the kitchen. It's the same layout as Castiel's house, but reversed. The kitchen is on the wrong side and the stairs are too. There are still only boxes in the living room.  
  
"Come on," Sam snags his sweater sleeve and tugs him upstairs. Castiel follows, happy to see a little enthusiasm. He loves enthusiasm.  
  
Except when they open the door, there's way less Middle Earth and way more Dean with his head up a girl's skirt.  
  
Oh, wow.  
  
"Dean, goddamn it!" Sam slams the door shut again. "That's my room too, you can't just do that in there!"  
  
"Come on, Sammy, I'll just be a minute," Dean calls back. Sam whines and looks up at Castiel, a pitiful face. The full realization of what he's just seen only starts to hit him now, and it feels like someone's doused him in gasoline and set him on fire.  
  
A moment later, the door opens up and the girl, tall, thin, and even more embarrassed than either Castiel or Sam, runs by them with a jacket in her hand.  
  
"Lisa, wait a minute!" Dean follows quick after her, but she's gone before Dean can even get down the stairs. He rounds on Sam and Castiel. "One hour? You couldn't have waited one more goddamn hour?"  
  
"Shut up, I don't need you eating girls out in my room!" Sam yells back. "And now Cas knows you're a deviant too."  
  
Dean looks at Cas as though he's only just noticed he's standing there. He hangs his head and gives a wave, "Hey, Cas."  
  
"H-hi, Dean," Castiel's gut roils. "How are you."  
  
"Just peachy, can't you tell?" Dean looks up at him, and thank the good Lord Sam pulls him into his room then. He opens up the window and lets the room air out before gesturing to the wall above his bed.  
  
"Wow," Castiel marvels. "That's a pretty big map of Middle Earth."  
  
"And see?" Sam pulls out a hand-carved bow from behind his dresser. "Dean and I went to a Renaissance fair last spring and he got it for me. Isn't it awesome?"

“Yeah, this is great,” Castiel holds the bow in his hands. He wishes he could be as excited as he wants, because how cool would a Renaissance fair be? Will Sam go see The Hobbit with him? Nobody ever wants to go see movies with him.

But then the image of Dean’s face up Lisa’s skirt barrels through his mind like a bull in a china shop, and that’s that.

“I should go,” he mutters.

Sam’s face falls, and he asks, “Because of Dean?”

“That didn’t help, no,” Castiel shakes his head and hands the bow back to Sam. He hopes he doesn’t look as flustered as he feels. “Does he do that often?”

“Who knows,” Sam rolls his eyes. “Enough that I know I’m tired of it. We’ve only been here a week and already he’s got girls all over him.”

Sam makes a face and crosses his arms over his chest.

“He does have the profound ability to charm anything that moves, doesn’t he?”

Sam raises his eyebrow, and Castiel swallows hard.

“Uh-huh,” Sam nods then. “I’ll walk you out then, I guess.”

Downstairs, Dean is rooting through a box in the corner of the living room. He glances up at Castiel and Sam as they come to the front door. A goodbye is right on the tip of his tongue, but before he can get one out, Sam comes forward and wraps his arms around Castiel’s middle.

“Thank you,” he says.

It’s not that Castiel doesn’t like hugs.

It’s just that no one but Anna (and sometimes Gabriel when he’s especially inebriated) has hugged him since he was even younger than Sam.

“You’re welcome,” he says, because there’s no other appropriate response. For a moment, Dean’s face goes soft at the sight.

“Bye, Dean,” Castiel gives him a wave.

“See ya, Cas,” Dean waves back.

**oo**

Ever since he started having dreams about Dean Winchester, Castiel has very much disliked going to sleep. He hates how real it feels, how Castiel can smell the rough denim of his jackets and feel every strand of hair on his fingertips. He’s only ever been kissed once in his life, and he hates how real that feels too.

Which is how Castiel finds himself awake at two in the morning, eating a bowl of cereal and surfing the internet on his and Gabriel’s laptop. It’s an ancient thing, another gift from a fellow churchgoer, but like their car, it gets the job done.

At the moment, he and Sam are locked in a pretty intense game of Words With Friends. It’s their second game tonight, and it’s almost embarrassing how hard it is to beat this kid.

The chat feature has long since been filled with good-natured ribbing and trash talking, replaced now by Sam asking questions Castiel doesn’t particularly feel like answering so late at night.

Sam is a nice kid, but after all, he is only twelve.

The front door opens then, and that’s the distinct sound of Gabriel shushing someone.

Great, he decided to bring Kali back home? Castiel tells Sam to wait a minute, and gets up from the table to investigate.

A deep voice alerts Castiel to the fact that it’s not Kali holding Gabriel up, but Dean Winchester.

_Even better._

“Hey, Cas,” Dean says through a smile. “Where you want me to put him?”

Gabriel is intoxicated left, right, and every way to Sunday. Even in the dark, Castiel can see that his eyes are bloodshot, that his cheeks and nose are bright red. Castiel leads him over to the couch and helps Gabriel sit down.

“What happened?” Castiel whispers to Dean as Gabriel curls into himself on the couch.

“Party over at Lisa’s,” Dean explains, and the phantom smile on his face says enough.

“Thank you for helping him get home,” says Castiel. “Had I known, I would have come for him.”

“Nah, it’s no worries,” Dean shrugs. “I like partying with him, he’s funny.”

The sentiment grates on Castiel. It’s been too many times that someone has said that about their mom after she’s had a few more glasses of wine than anybody rightfully should. At least Gabriel drinks out in the open, in front of friends and in social situations. Half the time when mom drinks, she’s siphoning wine out of a bottle while she cooks dinner or sets up for a party.

But it’s okay, because she’s so happy—the life of the party.

“You better go,” says Castiel. “I know Sam’s been looking for you.”

Dean frowns, so Castiel explains, “We’re playing Words with Friends.”

“That fuckin’ Scrabble game on Facebook?” Dean gives a disbelieving laugh. “Who’s winning?”

Castiel rolls his eyes, “Shut up.”

Dean gives him a mocking laugh as he’s ushered out the door. Castiel is just about to get the damn thing shut when Dean pokes his head back in.

“Also, sorry about the other day,” he whispers. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“Dean, that’s not—”

“Here, smell my fingers,” he shoves his hand in Castiel’s face. “Fingers of a man who just got laid.”

“Dean, gross,” Castiel bats his hand away, scowling. Dean just laughs and gives Castiel’s shoulder a squeeze.

“I’m fuckin’ around with you, man,” he says. Castiel thinks it’s meant to be reassuring, but it’s anything but. “Lighten up.”

“I’ll get right on that, thanks,” Castiel returns, not even the slightest bit concerned at how rude that sounded.

Because it makes Dean laugh.

“Okay, you’re not as much of a dick as I thought you were,” he affirms. “Still a dick, not as big. Dick reduction surgery.”

“Go home, Dean,” Castiel orders, and Dean sticks out his tongue in response.

God help him, that actually makes Castiel smile.

“All right, all right,” Dean yawns. “Goodnight, farewell, adios, adieu, auf wiedersehen.”

“Do you often get drunk and speak other languages?” Castiel calls after him.

“Constantly,” Dean doesn’t turn around, but sticks up both of his arms in triumph. He sings out, _“We don’t get fooled again!”_

Castiel doesn’t know what that means, but he trusts it’s nothing of import. He shuts the door and tiptoes back to Gabriel, who is now on the floor, staring up at the ceiling.

“Gabe?” Castiel tries, and Gabriel moans. “Can you talk?”

“Rejoice, highly favored one!” Gabriel declares, and Castiel shushes him. “The Lord is with you. For you, you are blessed among the gays.”

“Oh, jeez,” Castiel groans.

“Do not be afraid, Castiel,” Gabriel continues, “For you have found favor with the holy spirit of dick.”

“Gabriel, enough—“

“And behold!” he insists. “You will conceive in your pants and bring forth a boner, and it shall be for Dean Winchester.”

“God is going to smite you if you’re not careful,” Castiel manages to argue through the burn of shame on his cheeks.

“And it will be great!” Gabriel assures him. “And will be called Son of the Highest; and the Lord God will give Him the throne of His father David. And He will reign over the house of Jacob forever, and of His kingdom there will be no end.”

Castiel can’t believe Gabriel still remembers all of that.

Gabriel sits up then and takes a deep breath through his nose.

“I’m gonna fuckin’ barf,” he decides, and scrambles as quickly as he can to the downstairs bathroom.

Castiel follows him and actually steps back once the smell hits him.

Gabriel’s head is deep in the toilet bowl. His body pitches forward, and he throws up again.

Castiel says nothing, just opens the window perched high on the wall and sits down on the cool tile floor beside the toilet bowl.

When it appears Gabriel has finished, he lifts his head and screws his eyes shut. He’s sickly pale and sweaty, and the only comforting thing Castiel can think to do is reach out and rub his back.

“This is some Grade A bullshit,” Gabriel mutters. Castiel grabs a tissue from on top of the counter and hands it to Gabriel, who takes it gratefully. “Don’t—ever let me tell you tequila is my drink.”

“Okay,” Castiel replies, and winces when Gabriel buries his head in the bowl and starts retching all over again.

Castiel sits with him until it’s all over, until Gabriel’s barfed up everything but his stomach lining, until he’s curled up with his cheek pressed against the tile floor.

“That’s nice,” he mutters. “That’s the fuckin’ business.”

“I’m gonna get you some water,” says Castiel. “Stay right there. And don’t throw up.”

He gets up and treads lightly to the kitchen, checking to make sure they haven’t disturbed Anna or their parents. He fills a glass with water and grabs two Aspirin out of the pantry. On the computere, there are a series of messages from Sam, the last of which is, “Dean just told me Gabe’s fucked up. I’ll finish kicking your ass tomorrow.”

Castiel doesn't like the insinuation that he'll be losing to a twelve-year-old, but it is, regretably, a factual assumption.

He slips back into the bathroom, where Gabriel has taken up residence in the bathtub.  
  
"Here," Castiel hands him the glass of water and the Aspirin, but he doesn't take it. In a display of utmost maturity, Gabriel whines and rolls over to face the wall. "Gabe?"  
  
"Kali broke up with me," Gabriel hiccups.  
  
"Again?"

Castiel hardly sees the issue.  
  
"It's for real this time," Gabriel groans, and Castiel shushes him. "Don't silence me, everything hurts."  
  
"I'm sorry," says Castiel as he squats by the tub. "I did bring you Aspirin, though."  
  
Gabriel hiccups again and whines.  
  
"Nothing can fix this," he laments, and Castiel rolls his eyes.  
  
"Water and Aspirin will help," he points out, and Gabriel chokes out a sob.  
  
Oh, boy, he really is in bad shape. Castiel comes to a kneel beside the bathtub and sets the water on the floor and the Aspirin in a piece of toilet paper. He reaches in the tub and rubs Gabriel's back.

"It'll be okay," is the right thing to say, Castiel thinks.  
  
"No it won't," Gabriel hiccups. "Everything is shit, Cas."  
  
And so Castiel sits up with his choking, inebriated, depressed brother until the sky outside goes gray with early morning light. His head is so heavy with delirium that he doesn't realize that the door to the bathroom is open until his mom passes by.  
  
She sees them, of course she does, and comes into the bathroom.  
  
"What's this?" she asks.  
  
Castiel goes still. The night's events are still on the tip of his tongue, but Gabriel wouldn't want any of that relayed. What is he supposed to do?  
  
"Oh, Gabriel," their mother sighs and lays a ginger hand upon his shoulder. He curls further into the side of the tub. "Come on, up you go. Castiel, help me please."  
  
They manage to pull Gabe out of the tub and get him up the stairs. Mom makes him drink water and take Aspirin. At least she's good at terrifying her children into doing their bidding.  
  
She turns to Castiel, "What happened?"  
  
Castiel shifts, ready to spill everything, but he catches a glimpse of Gabriel on the bed, sick out of his mind and looking worse than Castiel has ever seen him.  
  
"I don't know," he says. "He just came home like this."  
  
It's a lie.  
  
It's such a lie.  
  
It's got to be written on his face, how hard he's lying.  
  
And yet his mom seems to believe him.  
  
"Get some rest, both of you," she gives a disappointed sigh. "I'll deal with him when he's feeling better."  
  
Castiel nods and keeps his eyes glued to the floor as their mom exits their room.  
  
He collapses on his bed and holds his pillow close to his face. He will never forsake or take for granted this lovely bed again.  
  
"Cas?" he hears Gabriel murmur.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Thanks."


	3. Love to Leave My Memories With You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "A baby I was when you took my hand,  
> And the light of the night burned bright.  
> And the people all stared didn't understand,  
> But you knew my name on sight."
> 
> \- Now I'm Here, Queen

Sam Winchester becomes a permanent fixture in the Novak home after school.   
  
Time passes quickly with the Winchesters, and after a month Sam is still getting the royal treatment from Castiel’s parents. Whether he’s over for homework or dinner, or just to play cards with Castiel when he’d rather not be home, his mom always makes sure he gets an extra snack and an extra helping of dessert.   
  
Sam preens under the attention. He’s lamented to Castiel what must now be a thousand times over that he wishes he were from a normal family.   
  
If this is what a normal family is, it’s pretty dismal.   
  
Sam doesn’t know about Lucifer, doesn’t know that Dad turns his head every time mom slips over a splash of spilt sherry, or that Anna has gotten in trouble for fighting at school three times this year. He doesn’t know that Gabriel had to call Castiel to pick him up from a strip club, sauced beyond all recognition, clutching a fake I.D. in one hand and his stomach with the other.   
  
He doesn’t know that almost every morning Castiel greets the day with a massive erection and thoughts of a rather gorgeous Dean Winchester’s private parts in or around his mouth.  
  
No. To Sam, this is the greatest family that’s ever been.   
  
Castiel can’t speak for their father, and yes he knows that Dean isn’t perfect, but what they have appears to work out just fine.   
  
“Poor boy,” sighs mom as she watches Sam jog across the street after dinner. “Must be so hard without a mother there.”   
  
Castiel says nothing, just keeps loading the dishwasher while his mother swirls the pink wine in her glass.   
  
“And with the father and the brother,” mom shakes her head. “They’re thuggish. Do they seem thuggish to you?”   
  
“I don’t know,” Castiel shrugs. “The brother is nice.”   
  
“Yeah,” nods mom. “Handsome kids, both of them. The dad too.”   
  
Castiel’s nose wrinkles.   
  
And then his stomach drops when he realizes his mom’s pointed look.   
  
Neither of them says a word, but Castiel’s brain slams inside his skull anyway. She couldn’t—she can’t know. Castiel doesn’t speak about Dean unless it’s with Sam or Gabriel, he doesn’t write his name, murmur it over the lyrics of a song, or anything. He has kept this whole thing airtight.   
  
“Too bad Sam is a little old for Anna, huh?”   
  
Castiel almost collapses with relief, but manages to keep his stoicism. He finishes loading the dishes and hops upstairs to his room. Gabriel has already snuck out, leaving a post-it on the laptop that reads, _“In the middle of a download, do not shut off. xoxo Gossip Girl Gabriel”_  
  
Castiel shakes his head and tosses the note aside.   
  
Gabriel is downloading all three seasons of Sweet Genius onto their already older-than-dirt laptop, and now Castiel can’t get enough juice to check his Facebook.   
  
It’s a stupid material desire, he knows, but if he doesn’t indulge his human urges once in a while, then what did Jesus die for anyway?

He falls asleep on a game of solitaire and wakes up nearly an hour before even his mom’s alarm clock is due to go off. Without another idea, he puts on his shoes and a sweater and goes for a walk.   
  
He probably should have put on a hat or something. There’s a chill nipping the air and his hair sticks up all sorts of ways. The last thing he needs is his mother lecturing him about why appearances matter.   
  
The street lights are still on as he strolls around the block, though the sky starts to flood with light as he comes around the last corner. He’s on the wrong side of the street, and has every intention of crossing back over until he sees Dean sitting on the trunk of his dad’s Impala.  
  
Jabbing a needle and thread into his upper arm.   
  
There’s a pretty nasty cut slashed across his bicep, and holy cow, how does something like that even happen?   
  
“Jesus, Cas!” exclaims Dean once he realizes Castiel’s proximity.   
  
Castiel looks up at him and asks, “What’s wrong?”   
  
“Well, you scared the shit out of me when I’ve got a goddamned needle in my arm, first of all,” Dean scowls, and then returns to the task of patching up the cut.   
  
“What happened?” Castiel supposes is a better question.   
  
“Snagged it at work,” Dean replies easily. “No big deal.”  
  
“Shouldn’t you go to the ER?” asks Castiel, looking back up at Dean. His pretty eyes are fixed in concentration, and Castiel actually wants to shake him out of whatever trance he’s in.   
  
“Dad’s between jobs, at the moment,” says Dean, “And I don’t got the kinda money you need to foot ER bills just lying around in some Swiss bank account. Hold that,” he hands Castiel the needle and thread and rummages in his first aid box for a pair of small scissors.   
  
He cuts the thread.  
  
“Thank you,” he takes the needle back from Castiel and drops it into the kit again.  
  
“I think you’re supposed to clean those,” Castiel points out, and Dean shrugs. He hops off the car and tests the mobility of his arm. He winces, but then picks a bottle up off the floor and takes a swig.   
  
Dean offers the bottle to Castiel, and Castiel is pretty sure this is the kind of thing his dentist cleans his tools in.   
  
“No, thanks,” Castiel shakes his head. Dean nods and tips back another sip. “Where did you learn to stitch yourself up like that?”   
  
Dean shrugs again, “Not like it’s hard. Got a cut, stitch it up. Anyone can do it.”   
  
Castiel nods, and silence stretches between them. This is the first time Castiel has seen Dean without a big jacket bulking up his frame. He’s thick and stocky, with strong arms and square palms with these thick fingers that make Castiel shift in his skin.   
  
Castiel’s eyes draw up, following the sharp angles of Dean’s jaw and the smooth curve of his cheek, all ending in those damned eyes.   
  
And his lips. How could Castiel even think about skipping the lips?  
  
“Cas?” Dean raises his eyebrows, and Castiel shakes himself out of his trance.   
  
“Sorry,” he mutters. “I should get back home.”   
  
“Okay,” Dean nods. “Thanks for the assistance.”   
  
Castiel returns with a curt nod and quickly turns on his heel to leave. It’s not enough that the guy invades his dreams, but he also has to be… the way he looks in real life?   
  
It’s not even close to the most unfair thing Castiel has ever experienced, and yet that’s all he can compare the feeling to.

Castiel barely gets in the front door before it becomes blatantly obvious that there’s an erection in his pajama pants. No one is awake yet still, so that’s good at least. He needs a shower.  
  
A very cold shower.  
  
He opts for the downstairs bathroom, though they hardly ever use it, and quickly disrobes. His erection bounces out of its confines.   
  
_Bounces_.  
  
He looks down at it and swallows a lump in his throat.   
  
He’s sixteen, his erections should not scare him anymore. He tries to will it down, thinking about the rules of baseball, or those damn car races that his dad loves so much.   
  
Except the only car in his mind is a certain black Chevy Impala, and atop its hood, spread out like one of the women in Gabriel’s naughty magazines, is Dean. Dean in his black t-shirt and his ratty old jeans, arching his back, being doused with soapy water…  
  
“God,” Castiel whispers to himself and starts the shower with shaking hands.   
  
He slides in even though the water is too cold, and he could swear steam comes off his skin.   
  
There is no place in his mind for thoughts of Dean spreading himself all sexy over a car.   
  
_Sexy? Where did sexy even come from?_  
  
His body starts shaking, though whether it’s from the frigid water or the nerves jittering through his body, Castiel can’t be sure.  
  
His erection will not go down.   
  
He decides that the best course of action is to ignore it. Ignore it while he washes his hair and behind his ears, while his sudsy hands start roaming over parts of himself that he’s never paid much attention to—his collar bone, his neck, his chest.  
  
The water warms and he moans, satisfied.   
  
He’s painfully aware of how badly his erection throbs, but he couldn’t.   
  
He can’t.   
  
But as his soapy hands wash lower and lower, he finds out that yes, he can.   
  
Castiel wraps his hand around himself and has to lean against the tile wall. He just has to remember to be quiet, that’s all.   
  
That’s proving to be difficult too, though. He hasn’t touched himself in ages, and the longer he goes, the more he forgets how good it feels. Not even a minute in and he feels fit to burst.   
  
Because of Dean.

Dean Winchester, with his perfect lips and his handsome smile. With his strong arms that he stitches up himself, and broad chest that Castiel wants nothing more than to touch.   
  
He comes with a shout and immediately claps his hand over his mouth to muffle the rest of his noise as pulse after pulse of ejaculate splatters the tile wall and slides down into the tub.   
  
Castiel has to curl into the corner just from the force of his orgasm. He has never had one that good before, and even though it feels dirty, Castiel decides that it’s a dirty he can live with. He finishes washing, but his erection won’t go away.   
  
And neither will his Dean thoughts.   
  
His second orgasm is more intense than his first, in that he can’t help how loud he is that time, or keep from whimpering through the aftershocks.   
  
When he shuts off the water, he feels entirely drained.   
  
That was… interesting.  
  
He grabs a towel and pats himself dry before redressing in his pjs and heading upstairs.   
  
It looks like Gabriel is still asleep, so, foolishly, Castiel thinks he might be able to get away with pretending the same.   
  
It works for a few minutes, before Gabriel says, “Personally I prefer the cozily insulated linen closet for my early morning jerk-offs.”  
  
Castiel screws his eyes shut, but still manages a harsh, “Shut up” before he rolls over and tries to hide for the rest of eternity.

 **oo**  
  
He puts Dean out of his mind, or tries to at least.  
  
Castiel just has to busy himself with more productive things, is all. He practices his guitar and sings out songs of praise as loudly as he can, hoping that will chase some of the unsavory thoughts out of his head.  
  
He throws himself into schoolwork, into chores, even into the movies he watches with Sam. He pays such close attention that Sam often has to remind him, "Dude, it's just a movie."  
  
Tonight, they're watching TV at Sam’s house. He doesn’t get to watch a lot at home, and what they do watch isn’t nearly as cool as Mythbusters.

“This is old,” Sam laughs. “I know how it ends.”

“You wouldn’t have a hand left if you stuck it in molten lead,” Castiel argues. “There’s no way.”

“Okay,” Sam challenges back and stuffs another handful of popcorn into his face. It’s nice, just the two of them. Here he doesn’t have to worry about putting his feet up on the coffee table, or spreading out too wide on the couch. He doesn’t have to eat at the kitchen table or be careful about dropping food on the floor (although he still is).

They play chess a couple of times, with a chess set that’s missing more than its fair share of pieces. They have to write the names of the missing pieces on scraps of paper, and slide those across the board instead, but Castiel doesn’t mind.

It’s nice to be around someone who’s on his wavelength.

But right now it’s just him, Sam, a big bowl of popcorn, and the TV.

At least, it is until the front door swings open and Sam leaps to his feet, poised for attack.

“I was trying to help!” shouts Dean, and Castiel sinks low into the couch cushions. Their dad barrels in behind him and grabs him by the collar of his jacket.

There’s a distinct smell rolling off of him, similar to the one he can smell on his mother around June sixth, or December thirteenth.

She doesn’t like remembering Lucifer coming into the world, and she certainly doesn’t like to remember him leaving it.

This is a different smell, though. It’s angrier, and much more masculine.

“The way you help me is by staying here and looking after your brother,” John pulls Dean roughly back and whips him around. Castiel’s stomach goes sour and he tries to make himself as small as possible. John continues, “I tell you I’ve got a job I gotta take care of tonight, and halfway through it I find you making salt rings in the attic with the guy’s daughter.”

Castiel frowns.

Is that a euphemism?

What could that be a euphemism for?

“You can use all the help you can get,” Dean bites back. “Sammy’s old enough to look after himself now, you need someone in there who’s got your back.”

“Dean, you’re gonna get yourself killed. You can’t even dig up one damn gravesite without nearly losing your arm.”

‘Grave digging?’ Castiel finds himself wanting to demand, but his tongue is petrified in his head. It’s got to be something else they’re talking about, because that makes no earthly sense. Why would anyone dig up anybody’s grave?

He sees Dean grab his homemade stitches out of the corner of his eye, sees him finally looks away from his dad.

“You think I didn’t know that’s what happened?” John braces his hands on his hips, staring down his son. “You expected me to believe you got caught up in a knife fight after you hustled a few guys out of their booze money? Because that was one of your stupidest fucking lies, and believe me kid, you’ve got a lot to live up to in that arena.”

A knife fight and hustling. From what he knows of Dean Winchester, the only thing Castiel can believe from this exchange is that Dean would tell such a lie and expect it to pass as truth.

Dean’s voice comes out, so small then that Castiel can barely make out, “I’m sorry.”

John looks taken aback by this, but apart from his shoulders sagging and his face going a little softer, he doesn’t lose his edge.

“You’re not hunting anymore, Dean,” John says. “End of discussion.”

Castiel doesn’t realize Sam has stepped in front of him to hide him from view.

But they didn’t even stop arguing for Sam, if they saw him. And why are they getting so worked up about hunting, anyway? Castiel doesn’t see the sport in it himself, but Dad used to take Michael and Lucifer hunting all the time.

Such a strange thing to be upset about.

“Are you okay?” he hears Sam ask Dean, and Dean scowls back.

“What the fuck do you think,” he challenges. When he realizes the harshness of his words he pulls back. “Sorry. I’ll be fine, Sammy. I’m, uh… I’m gonna change and I’ll come back down and watch with you.”

Dean disappears up the stairs, and with him up there and John in the kitchen, Sam turns and hoists Castiel to his feet.

“I’m so sorry,” he apologizes. “I promise, I’ll come over tomorrow and we’ll hang out. This was really stupid.”

“Are you going to be okay here?” Castiel asks, but before Sam gets an answer out, they’re met by John not a foot away from the front door.

He has a beer in his hand and a scowl on his face.

His eyes harden at the sight of Castiel.

“Who the hell are you?”

“This is Cas,” Sam explains quickly. “He’s our neighbor.”

John narrows his eyes and looks down at Sam.

“This is the weird one with the hair?”

The hair? What hair?

“Yes,” Sam nods. “And after that charming display, I have to say goodbye to him.”

“Oh, don’t you start too,” John warns.

This appears to be the very worst thing that he could have said. Castiel can see the proverbial lid blow off the top of Sam's head, and startles back as Sam shouts, “You always do this!”

The accusation nosedives into a full blown argument, and Castiel sneaks the rest of the way to the front door.

The last thing he sees before he leaves—well, he pauses, just to assess the situation one last time, be sure there isn’t anything he can do. When he looks up, he sees Dean standing at the top of the stairs.

He looks mortified, but also mouths “Go!” and shoos Castiel toward the door.

Tonight, Castiel does not need to be told twice.

He bolts from the Winchester’s house and sprints all the way into his living room, where his parents sit.

Dad is working, hunched over his bible with a pencil between his teeth and a pensive look on his face; mom, on the other hand, is trying to dust the top of the entertainment center and wobbling rather magnificently.

Castiel moves quickly to steady her.

“Oh, thanks honey,” she hums, sour grapes and sharp alcohol on her breath. “How was it at Sam’s?”

“Fine,” Castiel lies.

He feels sick all over replaying the scene in his head, so he tries to turn it off and stuff it as far down in his mind as he can.

If Sam or Dean wants to talk about it, they will.

He keeps a close eye on their house that night, though, just to be safe.

**oo**

Sam keeps his distance after the incident, coming around only once or twice in the next week instead of his usual every day.

Castiel misses the company, but doesn’t dare go over to the Winchesters’ to ask after him.

What makes it even worse is that Gabriel has been around less and less too. Castiel thinks he and Kali may have gotten back together last week. For all he knows, Gabriel is tied up in Kali Kapur’s bed, being held against his will.

And then he remembers that Gabriel would let Kali do anything to him, even keep him tied down.

Literally.

He talks to Raph very briefly about it when mom passes the phone to him, but Raph is so busy with his classes and working that he can’t shed much useful light on the situation.

Other than the ever-so helpful, “So stop thinking about it and do something else.”

So simple.

So flawed.

By the end of the week, Castiel is back to making braids in Anna’s hair and painting her nails for her. She can never get them very nice, and Castiel actually has a pretty steady hand when it comes to girly things.

He hopes that’s not a precursor to something much more worrisome. His mom has already chastised him one too many times for wanting to learn how to sew.

He just wants to be able to patch up his own clothes sometimes, instead of relying on her to do it for him.

And it’s definitely not because he’s had a slight obsession with needle and thread lately that the desire has resurfaced.

Tonight, he’s playing cards with Anna. They don’t know the games that Sam and Dean know, just games like war, Egyptian ratslap, crazy eights… things they’ve learned at church camp.

Anna’s thick red hair is all done up in braids, bright purple polish drying on her toe-and-fingernails. She convinced Castiel to paint just one set of his own toes too, knowing he wouldn’t be able to sit with the unevenness and would end up doing the other foot anyway.

He fully intends to take it off before he leaves Anna’s room, but there’s something about having metallic blue toenails that amuses him.

“I think they look lovely,” says Anna.

“They do, don’t they?”

They play until Anna stretches out on her bed, peering up at the cards. It’s getting late, even for a Friday night. Another few minutes and Anna is asleep with a queen of diamonds plastered to her cheek.

Castiel cleans up the cards and places them back in their proper spot before padding back down the hall to his room.

“No Gabriel still?”

Castiel whips around and sees his dad, standing with his hands in the pockets of his bathrobe and a stern look on his face.

He has nail polish on his toes still, doesn’t he?

“Not that I’ve seen, no,” he replies still, voice ever so level.

Dad sighs. “If that kid thinks he can just come and go whenever he pleases, he better have no trouble going the second he turns eighteen.”

There’s an edge in his voice that keeps Castiel silent, that will only permit him to nod his head once and wait to be dismissed.

“Not your fault,” says Dad then. “Sometimes God gives us challenges, and you know what? The tougher your journey to God, the stronger the bond you build with Him.”

Castiel nods again.

“All right, you’d better get to bed. “Rain tomorrow, though. No mowing the lawns.”

Another nod and Castiel bunkers down inside his and Gabe’s room. It’s not unlike the speech Dad gave to Lucifer so many times. If you don’t like my roof over your head and my food in your belly, by all means, you’re free to leave any time you want.

Castiel’s fingernails dig into his palm, biting so hard that Castiel actually gasps.

The sight of the crescent indents in his hand are comforting, in a way.

Deciding he’s of no more use to the world today, he shuts off his light and flops into bed, hoping the decision to sleep will actually be enough to lull him.

It is not.

Hours tick by, and Castiel just tosses and turns, and tosses and turns. The house goes quiet as his parents finally settle into sleep, and okay, it’s pretty unsettling in here without Gabriel’s inane chatter or constant snores to keep his mind free from wandering thoughts.

The door slams downstairs at about one in the morning, and Castiel sighs.

That’s Gabriel and Dean, he just knows it. They laugh together and like to have fun together—not that anything either of them do could possibly be taken for fun. Dean has a fake ID, Castiel learned, that says he’s twenty-two, and they use it to buy beer.

Or worse, the hard stuff that makes Gabriel throw up all the next morning.

Their noise downstairs dampens after a while, and Castiel feels himself starting to get a little droopy-eyed. A door opens and shuts.

Dean must have gone home.

It’s time to go collect Gabriel, then.

Castiel rolls out of bed and pads down the stairs, careful to avoid creaky floorboards and the like. Sure enough, he can hear Gabriel snoring from the living room. When he checks, Gabriel is on his side, drooling into the arm rest of the couch. He looks far too fixed in the position to move, so Castiel heads back towards the stairs.

His stomach growls as he passes the kitchen, though. He normally doesn’t like to eat too late at night, but dinner was chicken soup and that does not fill up a growing boy.

Plus, he knows for a fact that there are fresh cookies in the cookie jar on the counter.

He flicks on the light in the kitchen and nearly startles out of his skin.

“S’up,” Dean nods from the kitchen table. A box of store-brand All Bran sits on the table, a relic from the last time their grandmother visited for an extended period.

Castiel has been using it to hide a bag of Cap’n Crunch for months.

“Interesting decoy,” Dean remarks, nodding toward the box.

“How do you know it’s mine?” Castiel asks. “And why are you here? I thought you left.”

“Please,” Dean gives a laugh and stuffs another bite of cereal into his mouth. “We all know if this was Gabe’s, it’d be gone.”

“And you’re here because,” Castiel prompts, and Dean snorts.

“What a host,” he remarks. “I’m here because I wanted to make sure Gabe got to bed okay, but he was asleep before I could get back out there.”

He eats another bite of cereal and swallows before he looks back up and shifts.

“And maybe I wanted to apologize for the other night,” he says. “I didn’t know you were there, I woulda made sure we shut up otherwise.”

“Apology accepted,” Castiel crosses his arms over his chest. Dean nods and finishes the bowl of cereal, greedily tipping back all of the milk in the bottom of the bowl and polishing it off with a satisfied sigh.

“Scrapes the roof of your mouth and I don’t even care,” he peers back in the box. “None left, though.”

“You ate it all?” Castiel laments before he can catch himself. His stomach growls again and Dean raises his eyebrows.

“Hungry?”

“I’m in the kitchen, aren’t I?”

Dean smiles and leans back in his chair, running his fingers through his sandy brown hair. “I could drive us somewhere,” he says. “Grab some twinkies from the liquor store or something. Or there’s a 24-hour Mickey D’s drive-thru we can go terrorize, I’m sure.”

The thought of red meat makes his stomach gurgle with longing.

“All right,” Dean stands. “Get your shit, let’s go. I’m drivin’.”

“Where?” asks Castiel.

“We’re gonna go on a burger run,” Dean explains. “You and me. Buddies.”

_Buddies?_

“Are you high?” Castiel feels he has to ask, and Dean laughs.

“No, man, I’m not high,” he says. “And I’m more than sobered up, I swear. C’mon, it’ll be fun.”

Fun.

Is getting burgers at two in the morning fun?

He supposes he’ll find out.

He pulls on a pair of rain boots from the lineup by the front door and grabs Gabriel's coat off of the floor by the couch. It's a little short in the arms, and about two sizes too big, but it's better than nothing.  
  
And Dean gets a kick out of it when Castiel pauses and inquires after the smell on the jacket.  
  
"Gabriel's your brother and you don't know what weed smells like?"  
  
Castiel almost shucks the jacket and runs upstairs to get his own, but Dean pulls him out the door before he can do so.  
  
They walk in silence to the Winchesters' house.  
  
Mostly because Castiel doesn't want to risk telling Dean that last night he dreamt Dean's head was up his skirt, like it had been up Lisa's.  
  
Why he was wearing a skirt, he couldn't say.  
  
It was a weird dream.  
  
Castiel tries to shake it from his head as they climb into the car. He's in flannel pajamas, and while comfy, they do not hide erections very well.  
  
"All right," says Dean as soon as they're ensconced in the car. "Let's get some fuckin' burgers, man. I'm starved."  
  
"You just ate all my cereal, how could that possibly be accurate?"   
  
Dean flips him off as they pull out of the driveway and roll down the street. Castiel wants to be offended, thinks he probably should be, but Dean smiles. And if Castiel has learned anything over this last handful of weeks, it's that Dean Winchester's smile is infectious.  
  
They're listening to some music that Castiel's never heard, the kind that his Dad always tries to caution against. There's no denying that it sounds a little satanic and dark, but it's Dean's car and Dean's radio, so he says nothing.  
  
The song ends and flows flawlessly into the next.  
  
"Oh, fuck yes," Dean turns the volume knob way up, drowning them both in a high chorus of voices. It melts into a gorgeous piano piece, and this isn't like anything Castiel has ever heard before.  
  
"What is this?" Castiel asks.  
  
Dean looks at him, and good grief, you'd think Castiel just admitted to shooting someone in the head.  
  
"What?"  
  
"This song," Castiel indicates to the radio. "It's beautiful, what is it?"  
  
"Are you fucking shitting me?" Dean's eyebrows climb high. "Bohemian Rhapsody?"  
  
Castiel stares back at him. He knows he's not hip to a lot of popular culture, but it's maddening when people just expect him to know things, and treat him like an alien when he doesn't.  
  
The song changes then, and Castiel perks up.  
  
It's the same singer, but a different tempo, a different melody.  
  
There are no sweeping lyrics about Jesus, no A-B-A format. There's just beautiful voices and a beautiful piano, and god, Castiel has never heard anything so amazing.  
  
It pulls his cheeks up in a broad smile.   
  
"Who sings this?" he asks.  
  
"Queen," Dean laughs in disbelief. "Man, who the hell doesn't know about Bohemian Rhapsody?"  
  
But the tempo builds and the melody explodes into an electric guitar and Castiel's rapt attention is focused entirely on the song. Dean headbangs next to him, pretends to be pounding on drums along to the music.  
  
The song ends as it began, with that piano and that voice and wow.  
  
Just.  
  
Wow.  
  
"Good, right?" Dean turns down the radio, and Castiel says, "I want to hear it again."  
  
Dean chuckles and shifts to pull open the glove compartment. "You're looking for _A Night at the Opera_ ," he instructs. "Have at it."  
  
Castiel roots through the glove compartment, pulling out tapes and maps and--  
  
"Is this a gun?"  
  
"Flare gun," Dean grabs it from him. "Just--don't worry about it. Keep looking for the tape, you've got me jonesing for it now."  
  
Castiel finds _A Night at the Opera_ , and hands it to Dean.  
  
"You've put a tape in a goddamn tape deck before, haven't you?" Dean raises his eyebrows, and Castiel makes a face at him.  
  
The first song has Castiel pulled in, and he kicks his feet up on the dash. Dean gives him a dirty look at that, but Castiel must make another face, because Dean mutters soon after, "Whatever, just don't scuff it."  
  
Dean offers trivia on every song, appearing to know more about this whole album than he does anything else.  
  
"Are they your favorite?" Castiel asks as the angry first song melts into a lilting, happy piano tune.  
  
"I'm more of a Zep man myself," says Dean, and looks over at Castiel.  
  
He just shrugs.  
  
"Zeppelin?" Dean's eyebrows go back up. "Led Zeppelin?"  
  
Castiel shrugs again.  
  
"Castiel."  
  
"What?"  
  
 _"Castiel."_  
  
"I don't know what you're doing, Dean," Castiel frowns.  
  
"Don't tell me you've never gotten the Led out," Dean just says.  
  
"The what?"  
  
"Jimmy Page? Robert Plant?"  
  
"Are you quoting something? It sounds like you're quoting something," says Castiel, and Dean gives an exasperated sigh.  
  
"You've never seen _School of Rock?_ "  
  
"What about anything that's been said tonight makes you think I've seen anything?" Castiel argues, and Dean lets out a long whine.  
  
"Do you know how lucky you are that you have me?" he asks. "God, it's like you're just asking for an ass-kicking in every language."  
  
Castiel doesn't think he is, but lets silence fall between him.  
  
The music is too good to talk over anyway.  
  
They get to McDonalds and order their burgers, and park in the lot beside to eat them.  
  
Castiel has had better burgers, sure, but the first bite of something craved is always the best. he lets out a happy sigh and settles into the burger, letting his senses be overrun by the music, and the smell of burgers mingling with the smell of leather and weed and booze and Dean.  
  
Why would anyone do drugs when this is the most intoxicated Castiel has ever felt?  
  
"I could eat twenty of these," Castiel sighs happily right then.  
  
Dean looks over at him.  
  
"Seriously?"  
  
Castiel is about to explain the dynamics of figurative language, but Dean cuts him off.

"I dare you."  
  
"What?"  
  
"I dare you to eat twenty cheeseburgers," says Dean, and he starts up the car again. "I wanna see how many cheeseburgers a stomach can hold."  
  
"Then try it out on yourself," Castiel challenges as Dean pulls up to the drive-thru again.  
  
"Hi, I'm gonna need forty cheeseburgers," he declares.  
  
The woman on the other end, expectedly, has some reservations about this order.  
  
And yet somehow they end up parked again, music blaring and sacks of cheeseburgers in their laps.  
  
"This is a horrible idea," says Castiel as he unwraps his next cheeseburger. "Absolutely horrible."  
  
"The worst," Dean agrees and raises his burger. "Cheers."  
  
Castiel takes a bite, and okay, the second burger is just as good as the first.  
  
"You think I'll beat you?" asks Dean.  
  
"I don't know," Castiel replies through a full mouth.  
  
The Winchesters don't care if you have a full mouth.

It's a relief.  
  
He swallows, and asks, "What's your body's physical limitation on burger consumption?"  
  
"Never tested it out," Dean shrugs.  
  
They match each other evenly until burger number eleven, at which point Dean whines and rubs a hand over his belly.  
  
It protrudes not unlike Sam's does after a big meal, but Dean's stomach is fuller.

Thicker.  
  
Castiel wants to reach over and squish it.  
  
"Okay," Dean takes a shaky breath. "You win, I concede."  
  
Castiel swallows his bite and declares, simply, "Wimp."  
  
Dean groans through a laugh, clutching his stomach the whole time.  
  
Meanwhile, Castiel is about ready for a long night of sleep.  
  
He's thankful Dean is at least awake enough to drive still.  
  
"So, uh," Dean begins as they drive back toward their street. "Can I ask you something kinda personal?"  
  
"I suppose," Castiel folds his arms over his full stomach and shuts his eyes.  
  
"You seem smart," he says. "Why do you put up with so much bullshit?"  
  
"In what way?" Castiel feels his eyebrows crunch, but he keeps his eyes closed.  
  
"Sam says your family is nice and all, but they kinda give you impossible shit to live up to," Dean explains.  
  
"I've never found it hard to live up to," Castiel shifts. "Not until recently, anyway."  
  
"Then why do it?" asks Dean. "Gabe doesn't do it. Why wouldn't you just say 'fuck it all' to the whole god thing?"  
  
"Because that's not what having faith is," says Castiel, recalling the many times his Father has spouted off the same lecture. "Faith isn't inherent, it isn't easy, it's something you have to work to maintain. And the more doubts you have, the stronger your faith has the potential to become."  
  
"Faith in what, exactly?" asks Dean.  
  
"God's plan, mostly," Castiel replies. "That He's got it all woven together, and that everything that happens is a part of it for one reason or another."  
  
"So, like, everything happens for a reason," Dean clarifies, and Castiel hums his affirmation.  
  
Dean scoffs.  
  
"Sorry man, but that sounds like total bullshit," he says. "You wanna tell me that everything works out for the best, that there's a reason for everything and all that shit, fine, that's your perogative. But the second you tell me I don't have control over my own destiny--or that destiny is even real--then I've got a problem."  
  
"That's fine," Castiel cracks open an eye. "You don't have to believe, I don't care."  
  
"And you know you don't have to believe either, right?"  
  
Castiel keeps his mouth shut at that, because yes he does. He's seen what kinds of things happen when people do believe, and he's seen what happens when they don't. Even if some things don't make sense all the time, all Castiel has to do is remember Gabriel and Lucifer and remind himself yes, he does have to believe.  
  
"Sorry," says Dean then. "I don't mean to shit on your whole vibe, or anything. Just don't get it, I guess."  
  
Castiel hums.  
  
They're back to listening to the radio, but nothing strikes him quite like Queen did.  
  
He wants to put the tape in and listen again, but maybe that's too much.  
  
"Is there a reason you don't believe?" Castiel asks, and Dean looks over at him with a foreign look on his face.  
  
"Never really had a reason to, I guess," he finally says.  
  
Of all the reasons he's heard his whole life, he's never heard of someone not having a reason to believe in God.  
  
It makes him sad that someone as bright and as vibrant as Dean could feel so... hopeless.  
  
"You think it makes me a bad person?" asks Dean. There's sarcasm in the words, but a small kernel of truth is there at the core.  
  
Castiel pauses a moment, pondering, before he replies, "No."  
  
Dean may be a cereal finisher, a drinker and a smoker and an all around _bad infulence_ , but that's far from what makes someone a bad person. Not everyone would drive in the wee small hours of the morning to satisfy someone's burger craving.  
  
They arrive back in Dean's driveway at some inexcusable hour, when the light is just breaking over the horizon. Dean leans on the side of the car, twirling the keys around his index finger.  
  
"Make sure you go easy on Gabriel," he says, and Castiel raises an eyebrow. "He's been having a rough time, no use making it worse. Plus, that hangover is gonna be worse than any hellfire you guys can dole out."  
  
Castiel nods.  
  
"Cas?"  
  
Castiel turns.  
  
"I had fun hangin' with you," says Dean, and he smiles in this way that makes Castiel's insides get all gelatinous. "I can see why Sam digs you so much."  
  
"Thanks," Castiel's cheeks go pink, but maybe Dean can't see that in the dark. "Bye, Dean."  
  
Dean raises his hand up and waves.  
  
He watches until Castiel gets back inside his own house.  
  
Castiel can't keep the smile from his face, despite the massive stomach ache and his droopy eyelids. That was fun.  
  
He turns to hang Gabriel's coat up on the hook by the door and jumps when he sees both of his parents standing there.  
  
Oh, shit.  
  
"Castiel James Novak," his mother demands. "What in Creation do you think you're doing?!"  
  
"I was just with Dean Winchester," says Castiel.  
  
"Would you mind telling either of us why you weren't in bed, like you were supposed to be?" asks Dad, and Castiel crosses his arms over his chest.  
  
Maybe it's that he's so tired, or that he's so uncomfortably full, or maybe it's that Dean liked hanging out with him. Whatever it is, he looks Dad in the eye and states, "I wasn't aware that I had a curfew."  
  
It stops both of his parents from saying whatever they're about to say. If he didn't know any better he'd say that they were actually shocked.  
  
"I've never had a curfew," he says. "And I don't believe I need to start having one now, as this was a one time occurrence and a curfew would just be a redundancy. Now, I'm going to go upstairs and sleep off the dozen cheeseburgers I just ate. Goodnight."  
  
He gets grounded for the first time in his life that night. He hasn't seen Dad's face that red in years.  
  
Somehow, he doesn't mind. Even though part of his punishment is not getting to go to bed, and to do all of his usual chores around the house on no sleep, he can't get the Queen out of his ears or the smell of cheeseburgers out of his nose.  
  
And, as usual, he can't get Dean Winchester's smile out of his mind.


	4. Alone and Blue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Some people cry and some people die by the wicked ways of love;  
> But I'll just keep on rollin' along with the grace of the Lord above."
> 
> \- Heartbreaker, by Led Zeppelin

 

_‘got a record player?’_

_‘Yes, it’s my dad’s. Why?’_

Sam shows up on Castiel’s doorstep after school, looking slightly annoyed with Dean in tow. “He said he had stuff for you,” says Sam as he pushes past Dean and into the Novak living room.

Dean holds a plastic crate full of records, old and musty smelling. Castiel guides him upstairs, asking Sam if he’ll be cool on his own for a minute.

Gabriel isn’t home yet, so they’re safe in here.

“Okay, so I brought you a little sampler of everything,” Dean says. “Better than any of the shit you can download off the internet, at least for your first listen.”

“Dean, what are all of these?” Castiel runs his fingers over one of the dusty covers.

“Let’s see,” Dean grabs a couple of albums. “Just, be careful with ‘em okay? They’re my dad’s.”

Oh no, that does not sit right with Castiel.

“You’d better not,” he shakes his head. “You can give me CDs or something, or the tapes in your car. I don’t want to mess with anything of your father’s.”

“Oh, quit bein’ a little bitch,” Dean rolls his eyes and looks through the albums in his hands. “Okay, we got The Wall, Back in Black, 2112—”

The list is extensive. Castiel doesn’t know when he’ll have time to listen to all of these. Dad’s  record player is down in the basement, and nobody’s ever down there.

Wait.

Dad’s record player is down in the basement, _and nobody is ever down there_.

“--I threw in Queen II, since I know you’re already a fan. And if you like that—“

“Can we listen to one now?” asks Castiel, and Dean chuckles.

“I dig the enthusiasm, but I gotta bounce,” Dean’s smile tugs up his cheeks. “Picked up a shift bussing tables at Denny’s a couple days a week while Sammy’s here with you.

Figured I may as well be useful doing something, y’know?”

Castiel nods. He can’t keep his eyes off of Dean, though, wondering if what he’s saying matches up with reality.

“You’re staring,” says Dean.

“Sorry,” Castiel looks back down at the crate. “Which should I listen to first?”

Dean frowns and roots back through the pile records.

He extracts one and hands it to Castiel.

“Zep two,” Dean points to the _Led Zeppelin II_ emblazoned across the front of the yellowing album jacket. “Ramble On. Don’t say I never did anything for you.”

Castiel smiles and nods, setting that record aside for later.

“Thank you, Dean,” he smiles. “I appreciate the vehement interest in my musical education.”

Dean holds his hands out, saint-like, and deems, “Anything for the children.”

Back downstairs, Sam has already started his homework. Dean tries to tell him goodbye, but Sam seems hell-bent on ignoring him. Dean rolls his eyes at Castiel and shakes his head.

The moment he leaves, Sam visibly relaxes.

“What’s your problem?” asks Castiel.

“Nothing,” Sam shifts. “Can you help me with my Algebra homework?”

“Not if you’re gonna be a pill about everything, no,” Castiel sits down beside him. “What’s going on?”

“He won’t stop talking about you, it’s driving me insane,” Sam groans and shifts further into his math book.

But Castiel pauses.

“Wait, what?”

“Apparently he can’t believe there’s anyone who had never heard Bohemian Rhapsody,” Sam sighs. “All week it’s been nothing but him going through our dad’s records and talking about how much you’d like shit. Like I said, annoying.”

Dean’s been talking about him.

Castiel smiles at the thought.

“Really?”

Sam rolls his eyes and mutters something under his breath that Castiel doesn’t quite catch. But that’s okay, because Dean has been talking about him.

There’s a crash in the kitchen, and Sam jumps to his feet before Castiel can even turn his head. They rush to the entryway and Castiel’s heart clenches in his chest.

Shards of white casserole dish pepper the splattered lasagna on the floor; his mom stands over the sink, shaking. Castiel steps over the mess, not quite evading it as much as he would have liked, and places a hand between his mom’s shoulder blades.

“Mom, are you okay?” he asks. 

“Castiel, get back,” she throws his hand off, and Castiel feels that pang of sadness in his chest again.

“Come on,” he murmurs close to her, “I’ll help you up to bed.”

“Don’t,” she warns sharply, and Casitel’s face burns hot. He watches his mom navigate her way out of the kitchen, moving from the counter to the wall to steady herself.

Castiel sees Sam back out of her way, but she doesn’t seem to notice he’s even there.

She trips up the stairs, but Castiel knows that if he tries to help she’ll just lose her temper.

They don’t speak until they hear her door close. Sam steps into the kitchen, skinny arms folded across his chest, and asks, “Do you need any help?”

Castiel’s lips quirk up at the corner.

“Thanks,” he nods.

Sam starts picking up the broken dish pieces. The lasagna is too hot to pick up by hand, so Castiel scrapes it into the garbage with one of the larger pieces Sam finds.

Castiel can’t leave one spot of the floor cleaner than the rest, though. He ends up on his hands and knees, scrubbing ancient dirt out of the grout in the tile. At least maybe if his mom sees the kitchen looking like new, she’ll be a little okay. He’ll put things back in order, the way they’re supposed to be, and things will be a little better.

The methodical back and forth of the sponge soothes his frayed nerves, and the extra bit of elbow grease he needs to get the stains out of the grout makes him feel a little less like throwing something through the kitchen window.

Sometimes, it’s just about doing whatever works.

“Hey there, kiddo.”

Castiel looks up and sees Gabriel standing above him, hands stuffed in his sweater pockets and confusion on his face.

It’s dark outside, and Castiel wonders just how he lost track of time so easily.

“Hi,” Castiel ends up saying. Gabriel extends a hand and helps Castiel off the floor. His knees hurt, and his fingers are all pruned up. There’s a bucket of dirty, soapy water on the floor, one that Castiel does not remember filling.

“So,” Gabriel nods. “Took the kids for pizza, since you were all comatose in here. Brought you back a few slices.” Gabriel hands Castiel a to-go box.

The smell of hot cheese and tomato sauce, garlic and oregano all hit his nose at once, and his stomach turns.

“Thank you,” he says, though, and sets the pizza on the counter.

“Sam told me what happened,” Gabriel rocks back on his heels. “Sounds like I missed an Academy Award winner, huh?”

Castiel’s brows pinch, and he fires off a “Like you care” before he can stop himself. Something flickers behind Gabriel’s eyes, and Castiel falters.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “That was rude.”

Gabriel shakes his head and looks down at his shoes.

“Castiel?”

Gabriel and Castiel turn to see Anna standing in the kitchen, dressed in her puppy dog pajama pants and an old gym t-shirt that has “NOVAK, L.” written in faded sharpie along the bottom.

“Hey, Anna."

Anna comes forward and throws her arms around Castiel, burying her face in his chest. Castiel hugs her back.

“Where’d you dig this up?” Gabriel pinches the cotton t-shirt between his fingers. “I haven’t seen one of those since I burned mine in effigy.”

“Effigy of what?” asks Castiel. “Yourself?”

“Fine,” Gabriel scowls. “Since I burned it in ritual sacrifice.”

“You wouldn’t talk to me or Sam,” Anna just says. “It was really scary.”

“Sorry,” Castiel apologizes.

“Hey, no sorry, man,” Gabriel claps him on the shoulder. “Shit happens.”

“Gabe,” Castiel implores, glancing down at Anna.

“He’s right, though,” says Anna. “Shit does happen.”

Gabriel barks a laugh at that, clapping his hand over his mouth to stifle it, and Castiel has to admit.

It is a little humorous to hear a ten-year-old girl swear.

 They end up camping out in front of the TV. Castiel grabs extra blankets out of the linen closet and Gabriel and Anna arrange them into a masterful blanket fort. Castiel marvels at the structure.

“That looks amazing,” he says.

“Come on in,” Gabriel reaches over Anna and pats the empty space on the other side of her.

Castiel crawls in beside them and settles in while Gabriel channel surfs.

Eventually Anna and Gabriel fall asleep, and Castiel is left with nothing but the comfort of Words with Friends on his phone.

A message buzzes on his phone just as he plays his ‘Q’ on a triple word space against Sam.

It’s from Dean.

_‘Ever get the feeling there’s someone right behind you?’_

And a picture comes a second later, one close-up of Dean on his couch, so close it’s only half his face, looking terrified, and Sam’s head peeking up just above his shoulder.

He laughs.

_‘also Sammy has a present for you’_

Another picture, this one of Dean again, laughing as Sam’s middle finger invades the shot.

Castiel’s grin grows impossibly wider, and he flips on his camera. He looks like hell through the lens, pale in the light of the TV and starting to get a little stubbly in the places his facial hair has started coming in.

His hair is also an inexcusable wreck.

He looks like a mad scientist, which he doesn’t mind.

It makes the picture of him flipping off Dean and Sam about a hundred times better, though he’ll probably regret making the gesture later.

He captions the picture with, _‘Sorry couldn’t hear you’_ and sends it back to Dean.

Castiel swears he can hear Dean and Sam laugh all the way from here.

**oo**

Castiel’s dad has an extensive collection of albums, it’s just that most of them are old recordings of sermons and things. They’re mostly just that, a collection, but every once in a while he’ll come down to the basement, lock the door for an hour, and just listen.

Castiel hides Dean’s records under a quilt in the corner, slotted between a box of Lucifer’s old things and Michael’s trophies from high school, and waits until he has some time alone.

One such afternoon doesn’t come for weeks, but once it does Castiel jumps at the opportunity. When he realizes his mom will be at a retreat with her church group until Monday night, Castiel informs his father on Monday morning that he’s feeling unwell and gets permission to stay home and sleep it off.

Guilt settles low in Castiel’s stomach as Gabriel eyes him warily on the way out, but he doesn’t let up his ruse. As soon as everyone is out of the house for good, Castiel throws his comforter off and dashes downstairs.

Dean’s records remain where he hid them, thankfully. Though when he pulls out the record Dean told him to listen to first, his eye catches on Lucifer’s box. 

He knows he shouldn’t, but they never talk about Lucifer. There’s a thrill in his stomach as he blows the dust off the top of the box and unfolds the cardboard flaps.

It’s not much, just some of his old school stuff and clothes. There are pictures, too.

A lot of pictures.

There’s one of Michael and Lucifer when they’re little, sitting side by side with baby Raphael on their laps. His mom had always wanted three kids, his dad too. When doctors told his mom that having Lucifer had done a number on her, that she wouldn’t be able to get pregnant again, they’d adopted Raphael.

That’s why the family looks so surprised in the next picture, Raphael’s and Michael’s ears pressed to their mother’s pregnant belly.

Gabriel wasn’t meant to come, and neither were Castiel and Anna.

And in every picture, that appears to be the only sentiment visible on Lucifer’s face.

There wasn’t meant to be anyone after him.

Castiel flips through a few more pictures—one of Lucifer helping Gabriel build a snowman, another of Lucifer holding Castiel as a toddler, both of them passed out in their church clothes on the stage at church.

There’s even one of Lucifer carrying Anna on his shoulders. It’s one of the only pictures where he’s actually smiling.

And then there’s one of the Lucifer Castiel remembers most vividly, blonde hair lank with grease, hanging around his scruffy face. He’s all leather jackets and boots and not at all the wholesome young man he was raised to be.

Castiel throws the pictures back in the box and shuts it, swiping at the dampness under his eyes before he places the record into the player.

The doorbell rings upstairs and Castiel frowns. Then his phone buzzes with a message from Dean that reads, _‘let me in nerd, gabe says u ditched school’_.

A thrill rushes through Castiel as he tromps up the stairs, and he makes sure to check himself in the mirror. His hair is a little messed up, but no matter what he does it won’t stay down. Dean knocks incessantly on the door until Castiel pulls it open.

He insists, “I’m sick, Dean.”

“Yeah, right,” Dean nods. “Come down with a severe case of _Stickittodemaneosis_.”

“I’m not familiar with that disease,” Castiel frowns.

Dean pulls a DVD out of his pocket and declares with a smile, “Well, soon you will be. _School of Rock_ , man. We’re gonna get you educated.”

“Oh,” Castiel folds his arms over his chest. “I was actually about to listen to one of your records. Led Zeppelin.”

“Well, come on man, we can do both,” Dean claps him on the shoulder and walks right past him. “Zep first, flick second, and then whatever we wanna do after that. The day is young, Ferris.”

“Who’s Ferris?” asks Castiel, and Dean lets out the biggest groan known to mankind. “Dean,” Castiel calls after him, but Dean just heads into the basement without another word.

“Dean,” Castiel follows him. “Dean, I don’t understand whatever you’re referencing.”

“Asking for an ass-kicking,” Dean reiterates as soon as Castiel has closed them into the basement.

“You keep using that phrase,” Castiel decides to play back. “I don’t think it means what you think it means.”

Dean looks up from the record player with what can only be described as pure, unadulterated joy.

“You’ve seen _Princess Bride_?” he asks.

“Everyone’s seen _Princess Bride_ ,” Castiel shrugs. “Are we actually going to listen to this, or are you going to stand here and gawk at me?”

Dean smiles and puts the needle onto the record, and suddenly they’re inundated by the pulse of electric guitar. He takes up an air guitar and starts strumming along, mouthing the words as he goes, and Castiel laughs.

“Hey, look at that,” Dean grins. “You’ve got teeth.”

Castiel rolls his eyes, but his smile betrays him and promts Dean into further ridiculous behavior.

_“I wanna whole lotta love_ ,” Dean sings along, and Castiel laughs again, because Dean is an idiot.

He’s such an idiot.

But he’s a very lovely, very handsome idiot. So Castiel sits cross-legged on the old armchair next to the record player to watch Dean keep making a jackass of himself.

Dean is very good at making a jackass of himself. Castiel settles into the armchair and lets his eyes slip shut as the music cocoons him.

They get a few songs in before Dean asks, “Who are they?”

Castiel opens his eyes. Dean points to a picture from Michael’s high school graduation, hanging above his mom’s sewing machine. Michael preens with his diploma in his hands, mom and Dad framing him on either side, Gabriel and Castiel standing beside their mom and Anna held up by Raph and Lucifer beside their dad.

“Those are my brothers,” Castiel swings his legs over the arm of the chair.

“That’s you and Gabe!” Dean grins. “Look at you… how old are you?”

“Nine?” Castiel ventures a guess.

“Who’s holding up Anna?” asks Dean.

“Lucifer and Raph,” Castiel stifles a yawn against his wrist.

“ _Lucifer_?” asks Dean, eyebrows high on his forehead.

“Lucifer’s the angel,” Castiel explains. “Doesn’t turn into Satan ‘til after he falls.”

“Huh,” Dean accepts this with a nod, and looks back at the picture. “Which one’s he?”

“Raphael is adopted, Dean,” Castiel rolls his eyes. “Rest assured, that doesn’t make him any less of a jerk than the rest of my brothers.”

“Well, if they’re anything like Gabriel then yeah, they’re probably a stone-cold pack of dicks,” Dean nods. “Where are they?”

“Michael’s stationed in Germany right now,” Castiel hums. “And Raphael is in medical school at Northwestern.”

“Goddamn,” Dean whistles. “What about Lucifer over here?”

Castiel was afraid of that.

“Well, he,” Castiel swallows. “He died. About six years ago… when he was my age, actually.”

The realization hurts every part of Castiel’s body.

“He got into a car accident,” Castiel curls into himself. “He was pretty drunk. Wrapped his car around a telephone pole. The paramedics said he died as soon as he hit.”

“Shit,” Dean shoves his hands in his pockets. “I—sorry.”

Castiel shrugs and leans his head against the back of the chair.

“How’d your mom die?”

Dean swallows before he answers, very simply, “House fire. When I was four, and Sam was six months old.”

Castiel just stares, because wow, he’d had no idea Dean had been so young. Sam doesn’t like to talk about it, just like Castiel doesn’t like to talk about Lucifer.

And now Dean knows something about Castiel and his family that Sam doesn’t.

And there’s this look on Dean’s face that Castiel hasn’t seen on it before. He wishes he could just… take it away. Castiel wonders if it would be overstepping to stand and hug Dean, but he doesn’t seem the hugging type.

The song on the record fades  into the next, and that one into the next, and neither of them speak. Castiel realizes far too late that he was the last to say anything, and so pipes up, “I’m sorry about your mom.”

“Dude, it’s the best song on the goddamn album, cool it,” Dean reaches over to the record player and turns it up. Castiel watches as Dean loses himself in it, strumming and beating his fake instruments in precise movements along with the song.

Castiel checks the record jacket.

_Ramble On_.

He’ll have to log that information for later use.

When the album ends, Dean tucks the record lovingly back into its jacket.

“Movie?” he asks, and Cas nods. Dean grins and pulls the DVD out of his pocket.

They station themselves on the couch upstairs. Castiel makes them both peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and brings a bag of chips to the couch.

“Don’t spill,” says Castiel, and when Dean chuckles, Castiel draws the plate he offers back. “I’m serious, Dean. My mom will go postal if I stain anything.”

“Uh-huh,” Dean snatches his plate. “How’s she doin’ with your sheets, there, cowboy?”

Castiel shoves him at the insinuation.

Apparently Dean knows every word to this movie, like Gabriel knows every word to _Princess Bride._ But instead of wanting to press a pillow to his face to shut him up, Castiel finds it kind of endearing.

Several times during the movie, Castiel finds himself wanting to reach over and grab Dean’s hand where it rests on the carpet beside them. He’s hyperaware of Dean’s body heat, and the smell of his leather jacket.

Their knees touch, and _holy crap_ , Dean makes no move to shift away. Castiel bites his lips shut to keep from smiling.

Castiel lets his knee lean harder into Dean’s and he feels Dean go still beside him.

_Ohcrapohcrapohcrap._

Dean looks over at him, and Castiel shuts his eyes. That was a dumb idea, a very-very dumb idea. Maybe he can cover for himself, play it off like he didn’t realize he was doing it.

He opens his eyes and looks over at Dean, who has not stopped staring at him. Wow this is entirely too uncomfortable for Castiel’s tastes.

And then Dean, to Castiel’s relief, lets out a laugh and presses their knees back together.

“Nerd,” Dean mutters affectionately, and then gives Castiel a wink.

Castiel’s face goes beet red and he resolves to hide inside the hood of his sweatshirt until the movie is over.

**oo**

November turns into December and it starts to snow outside.

Dean starts to date Lisa. Date-date, complete with hanging out when Lisa's out of school, going out on actual dates, and, worst of all, making kissy faces at one another any time they're together.

It's more Lisa that's into the PDA; Dean complies because apparently she's _dynamite in the sack_.

They're sixteen, like Dean could _possibly_ know that.

Meanwhile, Castiel starts to spend more and more time wondering just how painful it would _really_ be to get hit by a bus.

Gabriel is not helping at all. He tries to drop these subtle hints into conversation about how Dean and Lisa are a good couple, about how they can barely keep their hands off one another, and it's all Castiel can do not to stick his head in the oven and call it quits

He liked not having feelings for people.

He liked it so much.

Gabriel decides to be a pain one afternoon, more so than usual, and plops a stack of magazines on top of Castiel's math homework.

Oh _my_.

"Gabriel, what is this?"

"It's porn, little brother," Gabriel claps him on the shoulder. "Magazine upon magazine of pure, filty, man porn. You're welcome."

"I don't want this!" Castiel exclaims.

"I think we both know that's a lie," Gabriel says, mocking solemnity coloring his voice. "I'm your big brother, I just want you to be happy."

Castiel glowers at him, so he continues, "And if a big hard dick is what makes you happy, then who am I to judge?"

"Gabriel!"

"Look, there's one guy that even looks like Dean in this one--ow!"

Castiel punches him in the arm. And when Gabriel doesn't drop the subject, Castiel leaps to his feet and chases after him. He's been taller than Gabriel for a while now, and while not as solid, he can take Gabriel down pretty easily.

They get to the bottom of the stairs before Castiel makes a jump and tackles Gabriel to the floor.

"Ow!" Gabriel shouts, and cries out when Castiel wrenches his arm behind his back and presses his face into the carpet. "Mom!" Gabriel shouts, and Castiel pulls his arm back further. Gabriel whines and calls out again, "Mom, he's hurting me!"

"She's not going to come, Gabriel," Castiel says very frankly. "And do you really want me to tell her exactly why I'm considering fratricide today?"

Gabriel turns his head, and replies, "Yeah, actually. I'd love to see the look on her face when she realizes her baby boy has a ginormous hard-on for oily bohunks--OW!"

"Castiel, what do you think you're doing?"

A loogie dangles from Castiel's lips, just about to drip into Gabriel's ear before he sucks it back up and swallows.

Oh, that was not pleasant.

Mom stands in the entryway, hands on her hips and a guilt-inducing look of disappointment and rage on her face. Very quickly, Castiel stands and pulls Gabriel up alongside him.

"He was bugging me," is the most honest thing Castiel can come up with without giving too much away.

"And you just _attack_ him?" his mom implores. "No wonder Anna can't keep her hands to herself at school with the two of you going at each other like savage beasts. I tell you what, I do not buy into that whole _boys will be_ boys nonsense. Gabriel, you are almost eighteen, you' d better start acting like it. And Castiel," then sympathy clouds her face as she realizes, "Castiel, this is not like you."

She presses her palm to his forehead, "Are you feeling okay?"

"I'm fine," Castiel ducks away. "I promise. I just lost my temper. I apologize."

"Apologize," Gabriel rubs his cheek. "I got rug burn on my face."

"Well, let's not pretend you weren't asking for it," mom clips. "Now both of you get upstairs, I don't want to hear another word out of you until dinnertime."

Gabriel and Castiel both mumble their compliance and trudge upstairs. Castiel knows emotions run high in this family, but he'd always liked to think he was above it. They're fighters, every last one of them, even Castiel.

They each camp out at their respective desks, Gabriel with the laptop to finish writing his English paper, and Castiel with a stack of Playgirls.

He feels dirty even touching them.

"I'm just trying to help," Gabriel says then, and Castiel drops the magazine, caught in the act.

"You've got a funny way of showing it," he mutters and picks up the magazine again. A well muscled man gives Castiel this _come hither_ look from between the pages, and Castiel gulps.

"You know there's nothing wrong with it, though, right?" Gabriel turns in his chair, all the mirth gone from his voice.

It must be time for their centennial serious conversation.

"Gabe," Castiel tries to steer him away.

"I'm serious, Cas," Gabriel says. "I love you, and I want you to be happy. There's nothing wrong with liking guys. Or girls. Or both, if that's what you're into."

"Oh, _god_ ," Castiel pus his face in his hands.

"I know you don't like hearing it, but this is one of those times when mom and dad are wrong," Gabriel continues. "They're wrong about a lot, okay? Just because they say something doesn't mean that's what's right. They're only human too, y'know."

Castiel's face burns, though he can't tell if it's with shame or regret or with gratitude. He just wants it to go away.

"You're a good person, Cas," Gabriel says then. "And you deserve someone who'll be good to you."

Castiel shifts, and so Gabriel clarifies, "And if that's not Dean, then it's not Dean. But, y'know... someone."

The thought of Dean being anything but his makes his stomach turn, but Castiel nods and mutters, "Thanks," all the same.

"In the words of our Queen," Gabriel begins, "The Lady Adele--"

"Oh, no," Castiel groans.

"Should I give up," Gabriel recites, "Or should I just keep chasing straight guys? Even if it leads nowhere."

Castiel pauses.

"What?"

"Don't chase straight guys," Gabriel says. "I thought that was explicitly clear."

"I'm not chasing anyone," Castiel frowns, confused.

"Find someone else who likes dick, Castiel," Gabriel  comes back, and Castiel throws the nearest thing he can find, a shoe, at Gabriel's arm.

 


	5. Come All Ye Unfaithful

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "There's a demon in my belly  
> And a gremlin in my brain  
> There's someone up the chimney hole  
> And Satan is his name"
> 
> -Christmas With the Devil, by Spinal Tap

It’s Christmas break before Castiel can even blink.

Castiel has to keep his guitar properly tuned when it gets this cold out, which is no easy feat when your brother lifts your tuner for no reason other than to be a pain in the ass. So, he has to resort to using the piano downstairs, which is nowhere near being in tune.

“We have a piano,” says Sam, and Castiel raises an eyebrow.

“You do?”

They don’t seem like the piano-playing type of family. In fact, they don’t seem like the type of people who live with anything that can’t fit into a few boxes.

“Yeah, the lady who’s renting to us left it there,” Sam shrugs. “Says it was her mom’s and that we can use it whenever.”

The piano in question is a baby grand, a frickin’ _Steinway_ , and sits unused in the back of the living room.

Castiel has been here so infrequently that he never even realized there was a back part of their living room.

The piano sounds out beautifully as he strikes the low E, and so Castiel resumes his tuning.

“What can you play?” Sam asks as soon as Castiel adjusts the last knob, and amends, “Besides _Kumbaya_.”

“A lot of things,” he replies through a smile and swings the strap over his shoulder. “I can play _What a Friend We Have in Jesus_ ,” he sings as he strums through a happier tempoed version of one of his least favorite hymns.

Sam thinks it’s funny anyway.

“Or, if you’d prefer,” Castiel clears his throat. “ _Go tell it on the mountain, over the hills and everywhere—_ “

“Real songs, Cas!” Sam laughs.

“Hymns are real songs,” Castiel defends still smiling as he starts in on another song, fingers moving deftly over the frets. “But okay, come on, you know this one: _O come, all ye faithful, joyful and triumphant—_ “

Sam shrugs.

“It’s a Christmas song,” Castiel’s face falls, and Sam shrugs again.

“I don’t know any Christmas songs, really,” he says. “You’re a really good musician, though.”

Castiel looks down at the guitar pressed flat against his belly, and he murmurs, “Thanks.”

It takes a few moments, but Castiel eventually goes back to playing. It’s nice to do so freely, without Gabriel to bitch about the noise or his mom giving him these encouraging looks, or Dad reminding him that God gave him this gift for a reason, and that it’s to be used to glorify Him.

Sometimes, all Castiel wants to do is learn stupid songs. But that’s the thing about music—most anyone in the house can hear you practice, and it’s always a pain.

Except now between just him and Sam he can pull out all the stuff he hasn’t dared play around his family, all the doofus things he likes to learn while he’s got a little extra time after band practice at school.

He strums through a few chords, putting his all into them, before Sam stops him.

“Was that the _Imperial March_?” asks Sam. “From _Star Wars?_ ”

Unable to lie at the earnest look of interest on Sam’s face, Castiel nods.

“That it was.”

“That’s awesome!” Sam exclaims. “What else can you play like that?”

“Not very much,” Castiel replies truthfully. “I’m not afforded many opportunities to practice anything that doesn’t glorify God.”

Sam frowns at that.

“You don’t think God would be stoked that you know how to play Star Wars music on your guitar?” he asks. “Because I think God would be pretty stoked about that.”

Castiel has always liked to think that too.

“I left my capo in my room,” Castiel runs a hand through his hair. “I need it to play the main song. Oh, but!” He exclaims excitedly and his fingers fly into the Cantina Band song.

He actually loves how much Sam’s face lights up at that. He likes that something that makes him happy makes Sam happy too—he so rarely gets to feel that. It’s nothing like performing at church, because it’s not performing. This music is easy to play, no putting on airs or smiling as he sings out glory to God.

Like this he forgets where he is, so much so that when Dean and Lisa appear behind him he actually startles.

“Don’t stop on our account,” says Lisa with a smile on her face. She and Dean are holding hands, and that makes Castiel’s stomach hurt.

But she also says, “You’re really amazing at that, I had no idea,” and thus it is very difficult to be angry with her.

“You’re in band with me, Lisa,” Castiel says very plainly.

“Yeah, but everyone in band sucks and we play really sucky songs,” Lisa points out, and Dean snorts.

“Band geeks,” he gives Lisa a playful shove, and then looks at Castiel.

Castiel doesn’t like looking him in the eye when Lisa’s around, for fear of not being able to contain himself any longer. Except _‘not being able to contain himself’_ involves a lot less wildly passionate groping and a lot more unwanted erections and petrified vocal cords.

“Hang on,” Dean holds up a finger and dashes upstairs, breaking the eye contact between them. Castiel can finally look away, and he does.

Right at Sam.

Sam, whose face suddenly floods with understanding.

Sam, who clicks his jaw shut when Lisa asks if he’s all right.

“Here,” Dean tromps back down the stairs and hands him a large book.

_The Complete Beatles._

“It just lies around everywhere we go,” he says. “We’re not really all that musical. And now that I know you’re not a total dick, y’know… you’re worthy.”

Castiel still hasn’t listened to either of the Beatles albums Dean loaned him, but he takes the book in hand with great care.

On the inside of the book in neat writing is the name _Mary Campbell_.

“Thank you, Dean,” Castiel’s throat closes up.

“Aw, come on man,” Dean grimaces. “Don’t make it weird.”

“Dean!” Lisa hits him on the chest.

Castiel can’t even be bothered to listen to them as they bicker their way up the stairs.

He’s never even heard anything in this book, and he’s determined to learn it all.

Well, maybe not all of it, he decides as he flips through the table of contents.

But a lot of it.

Enough of it.

**oo**

Raphael comes home four days before Christmas, which means that he’s back in the bed above Gabriel’s through the holiday.

Of course two is better than three when sharing a room anyway, but Raphael stays up into all hours of the night studying and watches both Castiel and Gabriel like a hawk.

Gabriel is having the most difficulty with it. When it’s just him and Castiel, Castiel doesn’t speak about the stench of marijuana and alcohol on his clothes, doesn’t mind that he sleeps until noon whenever he can, or watches Sweet Genius on their laptop until he falls asleep.

In turn, Gabriel keeps Castiel’s infatuation with Dean _—“and dick in general”—_ to himself. Castiel doesn’t know how accurate the “general” part is, as he still can’t bring himself to find anybody but Dean sexually appealing.

The second day Raph is home, something decidedly strange occurs.

Castiel wakes as he does every morning, tucked up against the wall swaddled in his quilt and blankets. He’s heard Raph already wake this morning, and even Gabriel, which means it must be late. He rolls over to check the time on his alarm clock only to see what is most definitely another human on his bed.

Mop-headed, blonde human on his bed, passed out face down on Castiel’s pillow. To see this particular figure in this particular bed six years ago would not have been so out of the ordinary. After all, the bed had, until then, been his.

The vision rolls over and disappears before Castiel can get a good hard look at his face, just to be sure. Castiel’s heart tries to beat right out of his chest.

It… it couldn’t have been.

Castiel must have just been sleeping so soundly that his dream carried over is all.

He gets out of bed and ready for his day without any other issue. Today, Castiel and his siblings decide to explore the mall.

“Aw, with the rest of all the lazy Christmas shoppers,” Gabriel coos. “How _fun_ for us.”

They all chip in to buy their mom a brand new food processor, one that was made in the current century, and their dad a couple of books he’s been eyeing for the last few months.

Then they all break to do their separate shopping, resigning to meet back at the food court in two hours. Gabriel takes Anna, which means that Castiel is free to shop without being berated by a bored ten-year-old every five seconds.

He gets gifts for his brothers, including a book of interesting places to visit in Germany, even though he’s been there for a year almost. Heck, Castiel has lived in America his whole life and still doesn’t know what he’d do if he got to see outside his own small corner of it.

He goes a little hog wild with his spending, though since he saves every last bit of money that comes his way, he can certainly afford to do so.

As much as a sixteen year old can afford anything, he supposes.

He gets gifts for Dean and Sam too, because as hard as it is to believe, they are both his friends.

When they get back home, they unload all of their bags from the car, trying to conceal gifts from one another as they stomp back up to the house. Castiel glances up at the Christmas lights hanging from the roof and startles back.

In his and Gabriel’s window, he sees the figure again.

He sees Lucifer just standing there, utterly expressionless, before he distorts out of view again.

Castiel shakes his head, because obviously he’s hallucinating. He must be, because there’s no way.

“You okay, kiddo?” asks Gabriel.

He follows Castiel’s line of sight and looks up at the bedroom window, but doesn’t appear to see Lucifer staring back at the both of them.

“I thought I saw something in the window,” Castiel offers, but Gabriel’s eyebrows just screw up and Castiel decides to keep his mouth shut.

When he looks back again, Lucifer is gone.

“All right, come on,” Gabriel puts an arm around his shoulders. “It’s naptime.”

Castiel goes without issue, curling up under Michael’s empty bed and trying to put Lucifer out of his mind.

His heart speeds up and he starts to sweat, because no, putting Lucifer out of mind is wrong. It used to be you couldn’t go a step in this house without knowing Lucifer’s presence, and now someone like Sam Winchester, who comes over every day and spends hours upon hours around the Novaks, can go months without ever knowing that Lucifer existed in the first place.

Castiel’s breaths come quick, but his heart at least slows.

In the baseboards below Michael’s mattress, there are the words _‘Awake, arise, or be forever fallen’_.

He had a patch on his jacket that said the same thing, Castiel recalls, with “ _REVOLT_!” stitched right under it.

The hold on his heart releases entirely, and a sense of calm replaces the initial panic.

It has only been a few days since the anniversary of Lucifer’s death; perhaps he just has Lucifer on his mind. That’s why he’s seeing things, why his stomach hurts and why his mind won’t stray from the memory of Lucifer perched out front in the tree, eating an apple and reading book after book after book.

Castiel drifts to sleep remembering how much Lucifer loved to read.

**oo**

Christmas Eve is a flurry of last minute baking and gift wrapping before everyone rounds up and hops in the family van for Christmas Eve service. Dad is already at the church—he always over prepares for Christmas, which Castiel gets. It’s only one of the two most important holidays in the Christian faith. No birth of the Savior, no salvation.

Lucifer’s voice rings very clearly in Castiel’s ears as he hops out of the van and into the church parking lot, “ _He’ll never love any of us as much as he loves Jesus.”_

At the time he’d first heard it, Castiel couldn’t help but think, _yes, why would you love anyone more than you love Jesus? Isn’t that the whole point?_

Older, wiser, and having to pretend he doesn’t smell liquor on his mom’s breath, Castiel now can’t help but hold onto Lucifer’s words.

“You’re okay,” he reassures her.

The cool winter sun glints off her hair.

Blonde, like Lucifer and Gabriel.

Castiel doesn’t know why that realization is so hard for him to process.

It’s Gabriel who helps Castiel distribute service programs, the both of them standing out in the hall bored out of their skulls.

Castiel so dislikes his Christmas clothes—the sweater-over-button-down look has never sat well with him, but his mom rarely lets him ‘dress up’ in anything else.

At least she finally caved and let him wear his favorite seasonal tie, the green one with all the characters from the claymation Rudolph movie.

The one that lights up Rudolph’s nose when you press a button.

With the growing swell of the crowd as the sermon draws closer to starting, Castiel flushes around the collar of his shirt. Beads of sweat roll down his back and down into his butt crack. There is an unholy amount of stifling energy going on here, and with every old bitty that comes up to him asking for a program, breathing in his air, trying to touch him, he’s surprised he hasn’t just curled up and tried to hide yet.

A hand on his arm.

“Hey.”

Gabriel’s voice.

“Leave the programs on the table, let’s go out back.”

Castiel lets himself be pulled from the throng and out into the cool, considerably thinner air.

“Thank you,” Castiel pants, leaning against the thick stone of the building.

“Saw you fading fast,” says Gabriel as he fishes around in his pockets for something. “I know my warning signs.”

He pulls out a cigarette and a lighter.

Or, not a cigarette.

“Gabriel!” he reprimands. “That’s not marijuana, is it?”

“Thank god,” Gabriel puts the cigarette—joint? Joint—between his lips. “If you called it ‘cannabis’ I would’ve had to issue a beat down.”

“You can’t smoke that out here, it’s illegal!”

Gabriel rolls his eyes and lights the joint, taking in a big lungful of smoke.

The end glows bright orange.

The strange, pungent smoke fills Castiel’s nose and unfurls into his hair, onto his skin.

He rips his sweater up over his head and tries to focus on anything but the felony occurring in front of him.

“Hey-oh!” Gabriel laughs. “ _SS Pit Stains_ is boarding.”

Castiel lifts his arms and groans. Of course he sweated through his shirt. His collar is all up around his neck, his tie has come loose, and he doesn’t even want to think about what his hair situation might be.

“You want some?”

Castiel glances up at where Gabriel offers the joint to him, smoke curling up into the aether between the two of them.

But as much as he knows he shouldn’t, temptation leads him to ask, “What will it do to me?”

Gabriel almost looks surprised.

“Uh,” he looks down at the smoking joint between his fingers. “Well, if you’re anything like me, it’ll make you less likely to shoot everyone you meet in the face.”

In spite of himself, Castiel smiles.

“Does it make things go away?” he asks. “Bad things?”

“Hell yeah,” Gabriel nods. “Dries your mouth out like two motherfuckers, though.”

Castiel stares hesitantly, and watches as Gabriel loses his patience and takes another drag.

“Look,” he begins tightly, a small puff of smoke escaping before he lets it all up in a plume above them. “I do it ‘cause it calms me down. I don’t have to think for a little while, I can just turn off my brain and let shit happen.”

That actually sounds really nice right about now.

Castiel holds out his hand, pulse so strong that he can feel his heartbeat in his fingertips.

When he inhales, he doesn’t feel as though he’s getting smoke—certainly doesn’t get the image of some horrid black cloud invading his delicate virgin lungs.

“Whoa, there,” Gabriel tries to warn, but it hits Castiel all at once and he coughs it all out, right back into his brother’s face.

And he won’t stop coughing. His lungs are trying to stave off the invasion, kicking and screaming for untainted oxygen. He coughs so hard that his stomach hurts and he thinks his legs might give out. He coughs until he can’t feel anything.

“Oh boy,” Gabriel reaches back and rubs him on the shoulder. “That’s gonna be a doozy.”

“What?” Castiel wheezes.

“Nothing,” Gabriel shakes his head. “I’ve heard the more you cough, the higher you get. But that’s just hearsay, no proof that’s true at all. You probably won’t even feel anything your first time.”

Castiel nods, body shaking from the force of his coughs and the sheer illegality of what just happened. Gabriel takes a few more drags before he puts the joint out between his fingers, which makes Castiel wince, and steers Castiel back toward the church.

His face feels… strange, but other than that, there’s nothing.

They just smoked marijuana behind the church, and there’s absolutely no high to prove it. They’re going to get away with it.

It’s such a comforting realization that Castiel smiles.

And when he realizes he’s smiling, he starts chuckling to himself.

Why is he laughing?

And, more importantly, why can’t he stop?

He stops just outside the doors into the main room. The sermon has already started and Castiel is laughing so hard he has to steady himself against the wall.

“Lord have mercy, we’ve got a giggler,” he hears Gabriel say.

Giggler.

He’s a _giggler_.

“Okay, look at me,” Gabriel tried to keep him focus, but it was clear that his own mental state was quickly deteriorating. “Fuck, we can’t go in there like this,” Gabriel whispers.

“Oh no,” Castiel giggles back, disproportionately elated for the problem at hand.

“Okay, okay,” Gabriel bows their heads together. “We’re gonna sit in the back and just… be cool, okay?”

Castiel nods and follows Gabriel’s lead. Gabriel has been through this before, so he must have some vague inkling as to what will be their best course of action. Perhaps it’s putting a little too much faith in his brother, who has to stop and compose himself when Castiel presses the light-up button on his tie, but it’s his only course of action.

Thankfully, Castiel gets a break from playing tonight. Instead, a couple of girls who are home from their mission in Papua New Guinea play music for the congregation.

They still get to sing, though. Gabriel sings it to the rafters, belting it all out as loudly as he can; Castiel, meanwhile, is lucky if he can get through three words without giggling at the way the woman in front of him says cherubs.

Cherubs.

What kind of a word is cherubs, anyway?

It feels like forever until they’re actually allowed to go home. Dad has another service in a few hours, but thankfully only mom ever stays for both.

She is, after all, nothing if not supportive of her husband.

Which means Raph is stuck driving home, Anna in the front seat and Castiel and Gabriel trying so desperately to just be cool.

Raph knows, though. He has to know. Why else would he keep looking in the rear view mirror every ten seconds?

As soon as they’re home, Raph tells Anna to get ready for bed before he grabs both Gabriel and Castiel by the collars of their shirts and deposits them on the couch.

“You’re smoking marijuana now?” he demands, softly enough so Anna won’t be able to hear. “I knew you both were idiots, but I never took you for stone cold stupid.”

Castiel falters under the criticism, which Raphael immediately pounces on. He continues, “You two have no idea what something like this can do to you. If you were caught you’d be thrown in jail. Stuff like this follows you around. You think Michael would be where he is, do you think I’d be where I am if I messed around with drugs? No.”

“But we’re not you,” says Gabriel. “Or Michael. Not everyone can be a Raphael or a Michael. Some of us are just us.”

“Very profound,” Raphael comes back sarcastically. “I’ll have that one transcribed and recorded for posterity.”

Castiel snorts into his hand, and Raphael turns on him.

“And you,” he warns, “I may have expected this out of him, but you? You’re smarter than this, Castiel. You know that this isn’t right.”

Does he, though? Because apart from being reprimanded by his older brother, this seems like a pretty good deal. It’s actually nice not to have his brain firing on all cylinders.

It was nice not worrying about what his dad was saying during the service, or feeling that ugly, bone-crushing guilt when he remembers, oh yeah, he likes boys.

… he likes boys.

_He likes boys._

So simple, so frank.

Considering just a few months ago he’d been pretty sure he didn’t like anyone, male or female, it should be a grander realization, right?

But it’s not. Perhaps it’s the marijuana—the pot—that offers him such a moment of clarity. Everything feels good right now, zen, like the planets have all aligned and shine down on him right now.

“—do you understand?”

Castiel snaps back into the moment and realizes Raphael has been lecturing him. Silently, he nods, and tries to look as remorseful as possible.

“Good,” Raph nods back. “Now just… go upstairs. I won’t tell mom or dad, but just go.”

Gabe and Castiel don’t need to be told twice. They trip over themselves and each other as the bumble up the stairs and down to their room. Castiel closes the door behind them and immediately pulls Gabriel into a hug.

“Whoa, what’s this?” Gabe pats him on the back.

“A hug.”

“So I can see. But why?”

“I like boys,” is all Castiel says, and Gabriel gives a low whistle.

“Okay, bud,” he pulls away from the hug. “It’s only fair I tell you right now we are not going all Flowers in the Attic on each other, okay?”

“Shut up, I’m hugging you because I’m happy,” Castiel giggles and pulls him into another hug.

“Yeah, they just call it ‘gay’ usually.”

Castiel jabs him in the ribs.

**oo**

Christmas Day is a little more challenging. Castiel is woken by a bladder-bursting urge to pee, only to realize that it’s almost nine o’clock and that his whole family, aside from him, are downstairs eating cinnamon buns.

He wants nothing more but to go back to sleep, but his high is gone and with the return of his sobriety comes the return of his crippling inability to do as he pleases. He pees, brushes his teeth, and heads downstairs to where his family is all gathered around the Christmas tree.

“Sleeping Beauty, as I live and breathe,” his father chuckles.

There’s an edge to it that Castiel doesn’t like, but he grabs a cinnamon bun out of the kitchen and comes to join his family all the same.

“Okay,” his mom rubs her hands together. She’s already got a glass of eggnog on the table beside her. “Let’s open gifts, shall we?”

“Stockings first!” Anna insists, and darts over to the fireplace to grab everyone’s stockings. Castiel’s hits his face, for which Anna apologizes, but not before she’s elbow deep in her own stocking.

Castiel’s stocking is filled with seasonal candy, along with a homemade candle from Anna that smells like cinnamon sugar and a Northwestern Wildcats keychain from Raph.

He likes the candle much better, to be honest.

The rest of his haul isn’t too bad. He gets a lot of clothes and a new set of headphones he’s been dying for.

Anna is still the most fun to watch, because she’s the one who gets most excited about Christmas still. Her eyes light up when she gets something she asked for, and she absolutely loses it when somebody gets her something they’ll know she will love.

This year, Gabriel got her all the supplies she’ll need to make her own chocolates—candy molds, candy melts, and lollipop sticks.

She throws her arms around Gabriel’s neck and actually may choke him, she’s holding on so tight.

“Can we do these right now?” she begs him, and Gabriel laughs.

“Yeah, kid, let’s go,” he stands and hoists her up with him.

Castiel’s lips quirk up at the sight.

He remembers then that he has his own stack of presents sitting up in his room for the Winchesters. Castiel texts Sam that he’ll be over in five minutes and dashes up to his room to grab their gifts from under his bed. There’s two for each of them. They’re nothing special, but Castiel enjoys giving gifts to people.

He didn’t think he would, but he’s never really had friends to give to before.

Sam opens the door before Castiel can even knock, bleary-eyed with a toothbrush sticking out of his mouth.

“What’s this?” Sam indicates the gifts in Castiel’s arms, but Castiel can’t get past the bare walls inside the house.

“Where’s your Christmas tree?” he asks. “And your lights?”

“Uh, nonexistent?” Sam steps aside and lets Castiel inside. He runs into the kitchen to rinse his mouth, which offers Dean enough time to shuffle to the second floor landing and sit on the top step.

“Merry Christmas,” Castiel greets.

“Fuck, it’s Christmas already?” Dean scrubs his eyes. Sam reappears, and Castiel hands him the gift on the top of his pile.

“Merry Christmas, Sam,” he smiles. Sam looks a little dumbstruck, but pops his clean toothbrush back into his mouth so he can tear at the paper all the same.

His toothbrush drops.

“The whole Lord of the Rings trilogy?!” he exclaims.

“Whoa, really?” Dean asks and hops back to his feet, taking the steps two by two until he’s standing beside Sam.

He looks even more surprised than Sam when Castiel shoves a gift into his hands.

Dean tears at his and his shoulders sag.

“ _A Whole Lotta Led Zeppelin: The Illustrated History of the Heaviest Band of All Time,_ ” Dean reads. “Jesus, Cas. This is so fucking cool.”

“There’s one more for each of you,” Castiel hands them their respective gifts. Sam and Dean look at each other before they rip at the gaudy Christmas wrapping that Castiel had to get from his mom.

“A magnetic travel chess set?” Sam’s face blooms with an even bigger smile.

“I know you guys travel a lot,” Castiel explains, but before he can go any further he has an armful of gangly Sam Winchester. He’s never gotten a bigger hug from the kid.

Dean, meanwhile, can’t stop staring at the picture frame in his hands.

“It’s not yours,” Castiel explains. “You took yours back. This is another. You can hang it up in your room.”

Sam looks back and asks, “What is it?”

Dean turns the frame around, revealing the Led Zeppelin II album encased behind a pane of glass.

“Dude,” Dean’s voice rasps. “This is... awesome.”

Castiel beams.

And then he gets the best surprise of all.

He gets a hug from Dean.

Dean smells like sleep, like leather and like teenage boy. Castiel may actually grab onto the back of his shirt to steady himself.

He looks over Dean’s shoulder and sees Sam staring at them. He catches Castiel’s eye and raises a brow, and Castiel scowls back at him.

But he’s not letting go until Dean does, and Dean doesn’t pull back for a while.

And when he does, he ruffles Castiel’s hair and gives him a wry smile.

“Is that weed I smell on you?” he asks, and Castiel knows his cheeks color. He knows he’s given himself away.

Dean just laughs and claps Castiel on the shoulder, and god, Castiel wants nothing more than to pull Dean forward and kiss him square on the mouth.

What an odd desire to have.

Especially since Dean likes girls. And he’s with Lisa, so there’s nothing he can do about that.

“Okay, but seriously,” says Sam, “Can we watch these? Like, all of them, right now?”

“I’m down for that,” Dean nods. “Cas?”

“Um, I’ll have to go home for dinner, but,” Castiel stuffs his hands in his pockets. “I’ll stay for a little while.”

They set themselves up on the couch, Castiel sitting between both Sam and Dean. Dean pulls a box on the coffee table close to him and opens it up. Inside there’s a pipe and a baggie of pot.

“You want?” Dean asks over his shoulder.

He thinks of how disappointed Raphael was in him, how so very illegal all of it is, and he almost declines.

But it’s nearly impossible when Dean flashes him that smile.

Smoking out of a pipe is a little different than smoking a joint. He doesn’t mind it, already feeling like enough of a delinquent after last night to care that he’s doing it again. Sam shifts at it, but is too wrapped up in the movie to actually care.

Castiel feels himself sink into the couch and lean into Dean. Maybe if he doesn’t move, Dean won’t notice that their sides are practically fused together.

He could fall asleep right here.

Sam seems to share the sentiment, curling up with his head in Castiel’s lap. Castiel smiles and lays a hand on his hair, stroking over the impossibly soft strands. It feels like corn silk. Is his hair always like this?

It feels so nice.

“Dude, what are you doing?” Dean murmurs into Castiel’s ear, breath hot on Castiel’s skin.

“I’m watching the movie,” Castiel mutters back, as though it’s obvious. Dean reaches down and takes Castiel by the wrist, pulling his fingers out of Sam’s hair and threading them through his own.

They’re holding hands.

Holy, merciful God, Dean is holding his hand.

“Big hands,” Dean smiles. His eyes are bright pink, heavily lidded, and Castiel wonders if his eyes look the same. And then Dean laughs and asks, “Know what they say about big hands?”

“Big gloves,” Sam answers for them, “Shut the fuck up and watch the movie, you jerks.”

Dean snorts into Castiel’s hair, and wraps his arm around Castiel’s shoulders.

It’s the merriest Christmas gift Castiel can remember getting in recent memory.


	6. Cryin' Won't Help You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Don't it make you feel bad   
> When you're tryin' to find your way home,   
> You don't know which way to go?"
> 
> When the Levee Breaks - Led Zeppelin

Maybe it’s a little tactless to bring up anal in the first month you’re dating a girl, but Lisa, amazing as she is, just raises her eyebrows and says, _“You let me do it to you first, then we’ll talk.”_

“Gross!” Sam exclaims, tearing his headphones out of his ears. Gabriel ad Dean chuckle from their place on Dean’s bed, where they pass a fifth of whiskey between them.

“Sammy, this is not a conversation for young ears,” says Dean.

“Then have it somewhere else!” Sam reasons emphatically. “That’s—why would you even do something like that?”

“Not so weird,” Gabriel shrugs. “Kiddo, a hot chick wants you to do something, you get your goofy ass in gear and do it.”

“Even if you don’t want to?” Sam poses. “Because that’s gross, and, y’know… rape.”

“Just ‘cause a chick straps on a dick doesn’t mean she’s a rapist,” Gabriel pulls his knees up to his chest. “Dean, did you consent?”

“Fuck yeah, I did,” Dean takes a pull off the bottle and swipes his lips on the sleeve of his shirt.

“How is that not gay again?” asks Sam, though there’s no bitter sarcasm behind the words. They’re genuine, like he actually wants to know.

Dean takes another pull off the bottle, because he’s not prepared to broach the subject At All.

“Being heterosexual and liking stuff in your butt aren’t mutually exclusive,” Gabriel says. “Gay isn’t liking stuff in your butt, it’s liking the gender of the person that puts it there.”

Dean raises an eyebrow about that, because yeah, he’s not buying that.

“Is it gay that I let my bangin’ Indian girlfriend strap on a dick and fuck me sometimes?” Gabriel poses. “ _Hells_ no. ‘cause if it was some big Ferigno type dude railing me, nuh-uh. No thank you, . Even if it was one of the scrawny dudes, not a chance. Gay is way more than what does or doesn’t go in your butt.”

“I’m… really sorry I asked,” Sam makes a face and pops his earbuds back in.

Gabriel snorts and turns back to Dean, “You were saying.”

Oh, right, they were having a conversation before Sammy butted in. To be fair, it’s not the best place to have this conversation, but Gabriel started it.

… by asking Dean what he meant when he’d said, _“I let Lisa fuck me.”_

He watches as Gabriel pulls a baggie out weed out of his pocket and a packet of papers. The guy loves smoking, and Dean’s never been one to let a friend get into trouble alone.

“She didn’t do the whole _strap it on and go_ thing, but,” Dean shifts so he’s sitting against the wall.

“Vibrator?” Gabriel asks as he picks apart the weed on top of one of his spiral notebooks.

“Uh, yeah,” Dean draws his knees up to his chest, and Gabriel tuts before Dean can even remember that this is embarrassing.

“Never put anything in your ass that doesn’t have a flared base, kiddo,” Gabriel licks two papers together and arranges the weed nicely on top of them. “For real, that’s how people wind up with weird crap up there and have to go to the emergency room.”

Dean makes a face, but Gabriel doesn’t notice. He just sucks the sticky residue off his fingers before he starts rolling up the joint.

“You like it?” Gabriel asks then.

Dean glances over at Sam, who turns his music up so loud that both Dean and Gabriel can hear it overflowing out of his ears.

“Yeah,” Dean admits then.

“It’s good, right?” Gabriel nods. He pulls the joint through his lips, sealing it up before he fishes the lighter from his pocket and sparks it.

“And you don’t think it makes me,” Dean accepts the joint as Gabriel passes it to him. “Y’know.”

“Ever done anything with a guy?” Gabriel asks.

Dean chokes, “Have you?”

“Kali dared a guy to blow me at a party while she watched,” Gabriel shrugs. “It was kinda hot, I guess. She got off on it, I was willing. Shit happens. What about you, Rambo, any homosexual experiences?” 

Dean lets out a plume of smoke and glances back at Sam. He’s so into whatever it is he’s doing he probably wouldn’t even be paying attention even if he could hear them.

“Before we moved here,” Dean clears his throat. “The last school I went to before I dropped out, I maybe gave a guy a handjob.”

“Maybe?”

“Maybe,” Dean takes another hit. He’d been drunk out of his fucking skull, but not drunk enough to forget the weight of that guy’s cock in his hand, or the way he smelled like Axe and beer, or the deep, appreciative groans Dean had coaxed out of him as the guy coated his hand in come.

It had been, drunk or not, immensely satisfying.

“You like it?” Gabriel asks then, and Dean shrugs.

Gabriel narrows his eyes, but puts up his hands and reminds him, “Hey, no judgment.”

But that’s the end of the conversation, thankfully.

**oo**

Dean likes hanging out with Gabriel. He’s never been one for friends—that’s always been more of Sam’s concern—but he’s starting to see the appeal. When Dean wants to sneak into a boobies bar, Gabriel is right there getting caught with him. When he needs to get away from his dad, nine times out of ten Gabe is in the same situation and needs away from his family.

Sam doesn’t understand that the Novaks aren’t all they appear to be, but that’s not any of Dean’s business to say. Dean gets it, though. Dean knows that when Gabe comes over in the middle of the night, eyes red and barely able to stand, that he just needs a bed to sleep in that isn’t his own.

The hell if Dean understands why Gabe feels so safe in his room, but Dean’s never been one to turn away someone in need.

Even though sometimes Dean makes them hang out at Gabe’s house, even though Gabe hates being at home.

That’s when he gets to see Cas.

Like Gabriel, Cas is kind of goofy looking, but there’s something about the two of them that pulls Dean in. Gabriel’s personality rolls off of him, loud and flamboyant, a ‘why the fuck not’ kind of guy; Cas is quiet and thoughtful, more ‘yes’ and ‘no’.

But he can play Star Wars music on his guitar, and can eat a fuckton of burgers in one sitting, and lets Dean tell him what records to listen to and even has the good sense to enjoy him.

And Sam likes him.

It’s good to see Sammy with a friend, even if all they do is sit around and watch movies all day.

Some days, like today, Sam refuses to leave the Novak house, and so Dean has to go perform an extraction.

Anna answers the door, and Dean gives her a smile and a wave.

“He’s not ready to go yet,” Anna sighs. “They’re in the basement.”

Apparently, the basement is the only place Mrs. Novak will let them have a nerf gun battle. No sooner does Dean shut the basement door behind him does he get a face full of foamy yellow pellets.

“Guys, what the hell!” he exclaims, but Sam just cackles from his place under Mrs. Novak’s sewing table. Cas sits on the washing machine, reloading.

He’s smiling, and damn if it isn’t hypnotic. 

“Sammy, come on, we gotta go.”

“ _Sammy’s not here, Mrs. Torrence,”_ Sam rasps back, and laughs as Castiel hits Dean with a fresh round of nerf bullets.

The door creaks open behind Dean and he looks back, frowning.

“I shut that,” he says.

“There’s a weird draft down here,” Cas explains and grabs another nerf gun from the shelf above the dryer. “Care for a weapon, soldier?”

Cas’ hair falls over his forehead, his blue eyes bright with fun.

Dean finds himself reaching for the gun, even though he knows that dad wants them home tonight in case he needs any research assistance while he’s on his most recent job.

Even though dad promised they were going to take a break from hunting for a little while.

Dean’s starting to think that means Dean and Sam are going to stay in one place for a little bit while dad goes out and takes care of the monsters under people’s beds.

“Better not,” Dean decides then, and Sam groans.

“Come on, Dean,” he pleads. “I’m having fun.”

“Yeah, Dean,” Cas smiles. “We’re having fun.”

The door slams then, and Dean feels an all too familiar chill permeate the air.

“A draft?” he asks, and sees his breath condense in front of his face. He looks over at Sam, whose ears perk up as he checks the room for signs of anything nefarious. Cas drops his nerf gun.

“I don’t understand,” Cas’ eyebrows contort and he goes to open the basement door.

The handle turns, but when he tugs nothing happens.

“Shit,” Dean mutters. “Cas, have you noticed anything, uh, weird lately?”

“Dean,” Sam warns him, scowling, but Dean grabs Cas’ arm and brings his attention to him.

“Cas?”

“No,” Castiel shakes his head. “Nothing weird. Our heat just does this sometimes.”

He tries the door again and it pops right open.

“Just the draft,” Castiel explains, offering Dean a weak smile. He then looks back at Sam, and his face falls. “Sam?”

Dean glances back at him, only to find hat Sam is downright _glowering_ at him. He throws down the nerf gun on the couch and grabs his backpack from the floor. He pushes right past Dean and mutters something that sounds like, “I’ll talk to you later, Cas.”

Shit.

“Is he okay?” asks Cas as he and Dean stare up the stairwell.

“Yeah, he’ll be fine,” Dean sighs. He looks back at Cas and gives him a smile. “I’ve never said it, but,” he shoves his hands in his jacket pockets. “Thanks for looking out for him. It means a lot.”

“He’s my friend, Dean,” Cas frowns back, confused, and Dean nods.

“Right, well,” he clears his throat. “Thanks anyway.”

Dean’s all the way up the stairs before Cas calls after him, “Hey, Dean.”

“Yeah?”

“I’ve been working on some of those songs in that book you gave me,” he says. “I can play one for you next time you’re here.”

Dean smiles back, “Yeah, man, sounds like a plan.”

He only catches up with Sam just outside their house.

“Hey, what’s your deal?” Dean asks.

“You know what,” Sam scowls, pushing the front door open. The house is quiet, still not familiar though they’ve been here longer than they’ve been anywhere else recently.

“Sammy, I’m not psychic,” says Dean. “You’re gonna have to pop a Midol and tell me what the fuck is going on.”

“I don’t have a lot of friends, okay?” Sam pleads. “I’m a freak, okay, but Cas likes me and if you mess it up by trying to hunt ghosts in his house, I’ll stab you in your face.”

Dean’s mouth falls into a flat line, and he stares Sam down.

“How long?” he asks.

“What?”

“How long have you known about 1313 Mockingbird Lane over there,” Dean jabs his finger towards Cas’ house.

“Their house wasn’t haunted,” Sam tries to reason, “The Munsters were just weird. We’re 1313 Mockingbird Lane, okay? _We’re_ the Munsters.”  

“Don’t change the subject, Sam,” Dean snaps. “If they’ve got something going on over there, we owe it to them to at least see what the hell is going on.”

“I’ve already looked into it!” Sam exclaims, and runs a hand through his hair. It’s getting long, long enough that dad will wrestle him into a chair and make him cut it soon enough.

“I’m not stupid, Dean,” Sam looks down at his feet. “There’s nothing about the house, no ancient burial grounds around here or anything. It’s not haunted, so just leave it, okay?”

“One friend,” Sam begs. “I just wanna keep my one friend Dean. And that’s not gonna happen if you go on a ghost hunt in their house. So please, just lay off.”

And there’s the face.

Dean has never been good at ignoring Sam’s puppy dog face, and he’s pretty sure Sam knows it. He sighs and concedes, “Fine. No ghost hunting in Cas’ house.”

“Thank you,” Sam breathes a sigh of relief. “Okay. I’m gonna go shower.”

“Good for you,” Dean nods, and Sam rolls his eyes.

Sam tromps upstairs and Dean peeks out the window, out toward the Novak house.

No ghost hunting in Cas’ house, fine.

He’ll just ghost hunt in Gabe’s house instead.

 **oo**  

Kali’s friend Baldur is having a party on the Saturday night before school starts up again. Apparently they’re on-again-off-again as much as she and Gabriel have been, and at the moment she and Gabriel happen to be off.

Again.

“Then why are we going?” asks Dean as they stomp up Kali’s walkway.

“Because, my friend,” Gabriel knocks on the door. “Free booze, free drugs, and if we’re lucky, gorgeous young women who want to have sex with us.”  

“Well, can’t argue with that,” Dean nods.

Kali lets them in, dressed to kill in this tight black mini skirt and a golden sequined top that make Gabriel let out a cartoonish, “ _ow-OOga!”_

“Charming, as always,” she rolls her eyes, but steps aside to allow them entrance. Immediately they’re each handed a red solo cup full of cheap, watery beer.

“Many thanks, Mercury ol’ pal,” Gabriel winks, and Mercury— _Mercury_ —shakes his head and continues to distribute drinks.

“Mercury?” Dean can’t help his curiosity.

“Parents are Classics professors at KU,” Gabriel rolls his eyes. “Hard-ons for naming their kids some weird-ass shit. I don’t even fucking know.”

He tips back the beer and chugs it expertly. Even Dean has to marvel at Gabe’s ability to put away booze, grabbing another one and downing it before they even make their way back into the kitchen where the real stash is.

There’s a game of beer pong going on, and a couple of guys are building up a beer can pyramid. It’s pretty standard as far as high school parties go, he thinks. Maybe John Hughes, 1980s party type standard, anyway. Dean wasn’t really into the party scene when he was in school.

Out of habit, Dean keeps count of every single drink Gabriel manages to fit inside his body. It’s a hell of a job trying to keep up with him, but there’s nothing better to do.

These parties are a lot lamer than movies would lead you to believe.

He sort of drifts after Gabriel decides to follow a thick, curvy girl upstairs. Yeah, he should be around normal kids doing normal things, but fuck if this isn’t tedious as all hell.

All he wants to do is talk to Gabriel about what’s going on at his house, and he hasn’t gotten to do it yet.

Or, maybe he hasn’t mustered up the stones to do it yet. He’s never tackled a case alone before, and even though he’s seen his dad do it hundreds of times, he doesn’t know where to begin.

You can’t just go around asking people if they’ve seen a ghost in their house.

Dean ends up sitting out back on the porch, beer in hand and cogs turning in his mind.

His phone buzzes.

A text from Cas.

_‘Is Gabriel with you?’_

_‘yep,’_ Dean texts back. _‘we’re at the lamest party ever to have partied.’_

A text back, a picture of him and Sam, faces lit by the blue glow of the Winchester’s TV set.

 _‘It’s a Harry Potter weekend on ABC Family_.’

Dean chuckles.

_‘you’re allowed to watch hairy twatter?’_

Another message, this time from Sam.

_‘Gross, Dean.’_

Dean laughs at that, and laughs even harder when he gets a picture from Castiel.

It’s just Cas, face contorted up in disgust, with the caption, _‘Sam just explained that to me.’_

“Hey there, buddy,” comes Gabriel’s very inebriated greeting. He plops down on the porch with him, wobbly but jovial. “Is that my brother’s mug on your phone there?”

“Yeah,” Dean clicks off his screen. “I think he just learned what a ‘twat’ is.”

“Someone hold a mirror to his face?”

Dean snorts and finishes off the rest of his beer. Gabriel’s moved onto something different now, something fruity and sharp.

And vomit. That’s the distinct smell of vomit.

“You okay?” Dean asks.

“Yeah, just, y’know,” Gabriel clears his throat. “Yacked in the bathroom. No big deal. Why’re you looking at pictures of Cas?”

“Uh, we’re texting,” Dean scoots away from Gabriel just an inch.

“What about,” Gabriel turns these big, ‘innocent’ cow eyes on him, and Dean swallows hard.

“Nothin’,” he shakes his head, and Gabriel takes a long slug of his drink. “Uh, you might wanna slow down there, Belushi.”

Dean moves to extract the drink from Gabe’s hand, and Gabe whines, “No, daddy needs his pain-go-bye-bye juice.”

“Jesus,” Dean nearly spills the rest of Gabriel’s drink all over him.

As he makes himself a very comfy place on Dean’s lap.

“You are a hot mess there, man,” Dean sighs.

To which Gabriel replies, singing, _“Do you believe in life after love?”_

Dean sets their cups down and places an awkward hand on Gabriel’s shoulder. Gabe is affectionate, Dean knows, especially when he gets sauced up like this. He’s heavy on Dean’s lap, but Dean just lets him lie there.

What he’s not into is Gabriel grabbing onto the hem of his shirt and starting to cry.

Fucking.

 _Cry_.

Dean sighs and rubs slow, calming circles over his back.

“That’s all right,” he looks up at the sky wishing he was somewhere, anywhere, but here. “You’re all right.”

“I’m not, Dean,” Gabriel hiccups then. “I’m a fucking mess.”

“Yeah, but,” Dean tries to laugh it off. “Who isn’t, man?”

“I just want it to be over,” Gabriel chokes. “I fucking hate this.”

Something about the raw note in his voice makes Dean’s heart seize. Maybe it’s the alcohol in his own system that makes him stroke his hand over Gabriel’s hair and tell him everything’s going to be okay.

“Chicks, man,” Dean sighs, “They do this, you know?”

“I could give a fuck about chicks, _man_ ,” Gabriel spits back, but his body lurches forward and please, please don’t let him barf.

Not on Dean.

Not tonight.

“God, when the _fuck_ does it end?” Gabriel shouts. “Uncle, okay? I’m fucking done.”

“Done with what?” Dean asks.

“Being--” Gabriel dry heaves and doesn’t finish his thought. He just lies face down in Dean’s lap until he decides he’s okay to move again.

After a while, a long while, Gabriel rolls over and peers up at the sky. His eyes are glassy and red, his nose and cheeks flushed.

“You believe in Heaven?” Gabriel asks then, and Dean snorts.

“Not really, man,” he replies. He still fiddles with Gabriel’s hair, because he’s pretty drunk and it’s right there and it seems to calm him down.

“Me neither,” Gabriel concludes. “I’m supposed to, but I don’t. I never have.”

“Yeah, that’s kinda weird,” Dean agrees. “I wasn’t raised in it, but you. Shit, man, you’re right in the thick of it with all that God and Heaven stuff.”

“Lucifer didn’t believe in it either,” Gabriel continues. “Made a whole big deal about it at Christmas one year. Renounced God, Jesus, Heaven, Hell—the whole shebang. Motherfucker reads Nietzsche and suddenly he’s an atheist twatbag who can’t keep his goddamn cakehole shut at Sunday dinner.”

Dean frowns, and Gabriel continues, “He and Michael were at each other’s fucking throats after that. You’ve seen the house, man, it’s not big. Half the time Raphael was trying to break ‘em up and keep the peace, the other half of the time he got pulled into their shit. It was fucking ugly, Dean.”

“Sounds like,” Dean nods.

“Me, Lucifer, and Michael were the only ones home,” Gabriel rubs his hands over his face. “I don’t think they knew I was there. They were yelling back and forth and back and forth, blah blah blah blah, _blah_. And then he said it.”

“What?” Dean whispers.

“Lucifer didn’t understand why Michael wanted to go into the service,” Gabriel explains. “I can’t wrap my head around it either, but hey, I’m a fat, ugly, drunk, so what do I know?”

“Hey, you’re not that drunk,” Dean teases back, and Gabriel makes a swat at him.

“Michael said it was his duty,” Gabriel’s eyes slip shut. “And Lucifer couldn’t believe Michael would actually die protecting a broken system. So Michael said, at least his death would matter. That if Lucifer blinked out of existence the next day that it wouldn’t make any difference whatsoever.”

Gabriel finally sits up and reorients himself with the vertical world. He rubs his temples and folds himself up as small as he’ll go.

“He was right,” he mutters. “Lucifer went on a bender after that, got himself killed a couple weeks later, and Michael was right. So fucking insignificant we don’t even talk about him. Truth is? I really loved Lucifer. Right up until the end. He was kind of a dickbag by the end, but. I liked him. He was a cool person.”

Dean nods and leans forward on his legs.

“He just,” Gabriel licks his lips. “He wanted to do so much, you know? And he was just so pissed off by the end that I think he lost sight of hating the system and just started hating everyone in it. Including us.”

Gabriel swipes at his face, and Dean presses a hand into his shoulder.

“I don’t really have anything comforting to say,” he admits then. “Sorry. My mom died when I was a little kid, so I got nothin’.”

“It’s okay,” Gabriel puts his face in his hands. “Kinda feels good to talk about it, actually. Don’t tell anyone you let me bitch at you for this long. I’ve gotta maintain my street cred.”

“Right, your street cred is very important,” Dean squeezes the meat of Gabriel’s shoulder.

“It is,” Gabriel whines, face still in his hands. “Those damn kids from Overland Park are gonna come here and serve me if I don’t protect my rep. Look at me, I don’t have it in me to throw down.”

“I know,” Dean chuckles.

“Punk-ass bitches,” Gabriel moans. “I’m hardcore as fuck.”

“Agreed,” Dean sighs, and sits out with Gabriel until they’re ready to call Castiel and beg him to pick their drunken asses up.

**oo**

Morning comes much too soon. There’s a lot of hustle and bustle going on around him, the token sounds of someone trying to be quiet and failing miserably. Maybe if Dean pretends to be asleep, he’ll be able to trick his body into following.

His stomach gives a painful churn, but if there’s anything left in his stomach to vomit up he refuses to do so. These sheets smell clean and he’s not putting ‘sheet ruiner’ on his list of shit he’s done.

Not for that reason, at least.

He hugs a pillow to his face and realizes that it is not his pillow very quickly.

Some generic scent of clean shampoo and laundry detergent lingers on the threads, crisp. And underneath it there’s the distinct smell of _guy_ that’s always made Dean’s guts unfurl.

It’s Castiel’s bed.

That shouldn’t be as exciting as it is, and holy shit, he does _not_ have a boner on top of being hungover as shit in his little brother’s best friend’s bed.

Oh, this is just _wrong._

He shifts subtly, trying to angle away from pressure, but it has the opposite of the intended effect. Dean swallows down the small noise that threatens to escape his throat, and god help him, ruts against the mattress again.

If he keeps this up, there is going to be a very embarrassing situation at hand. But for some reason, the threat of explaining away creaming in his jeans is outweighed by just how much Dean would like for Cas to be in the bed with him.

He wants to bury his nose in that thick dark hair and run his lips over the stubble he tries to keep closely shaven and off his face.

God, why. Why is he a teenager with a fucking libido.

“Gabe, we have church,” he hears Cas whisper, and nearly jumps out of the bed. His heart hammers in his throat, because shit, what if Cas heard him? Or saw him?

… or can read minds.

“M’not going,” Gabriel mumbles. “Kisses to Jesus from me.”

“Gabe, you’re already on thin ice as it is,” Castiel’s voice drops even lower. “You’re eighteen in April, if you think Dad won’t throw you out if you don’t shape up--”

“So let him throw me out,” Gabriel groans.

“Where would you live?”

“Find a place.”

“You don’t have a job,” Castiel points out.

“Then I’ll scrub toilets until I’m eighty,” Gabriel snaps back. “Now leave me the fuck alone.”

“No,” Cas demands then, an unfamiliar ring of authority to it. “Because if you leave me and Anna here by ourselves, I will—”

The threat dies on his lips, and Gabriel shifts.

“You’ll _what_?” he dares.

“I’ll,” Cas gulps. “I’ll be so sad, Gabriel.”

Silence, and wow Dean wishes he were asleep right now. He can only imagine the look on Cas’ face as he says it, and the look on Gabriel’s as it spins through the wheels of his mind and clicks into place.

“I’ll tell them you’re not feeling well,” says Cas. “And would you make sure Dean is all right when he wakes up?”

“He’ll be fine. Kid’s a trooper.”

“Right, well,” Castiel clears his throat. “Sleep well, Gabriel.”

“Thanks,” Gabriel grunts, and his bed squeaks. He must be back to lying down.

Dean rolls over, erection thankfully gone down, but doesn’t dare speak. He just stares at the baseboards above his head until Gabriel’s back to snoring the morning away.

The room goes cold then, and when Dean exhales he sees a warm puff of condensation escape his lips. Not _again_.

 There’s a shift in the air around him, and so he pushes himself up.

There, on the edge of the bedframe, sitting with elbows on his knees and a smarmy smile on his face, is--

That’s Lucifer, isn’t it?

He regards Dean with this cold, icy gaze.

Then he leans forward, and with a smirk tugging at his lips, says, “ _Boo_ ” before he distorts back out of sight. 


	7. I'm in Need of Some Restraint

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Pleased to meet you  
> Hope you guess my name.  
> But what's puzzling you  
> Is the nature of my game."
> 
> Sympathy For the Devil - Rolling Stones

Half a dozen people have been reported missing in Jefferson City, so naturally dad takes off to investigate. 

Dad says that Sammy still isn’t old enough to be left alone, even though Dean’s been looking after the both of them since way before he was twelve. Dad just doesn’t want him on jobs yet, doesn’t think he’s ready.

Which is why he’s going to take care of the ghost problem in the Novak’s house on his own. Then dad’ll see he’s just as good on a hunt as he is at babysitting Sammy.

He just has to get around Sam’s constant presence in the Novak house is all. Dean doesn’t want to put the kibosh on Sam’s friendship with Cas. You’d think people would be grateful to someone getting rid of the malevolent spirits in their house, but it’s just like Uncle Bobby says.

They call it a thankless job for a reason.

But it’s what’s right, so you just bite your lip, give it hell, and do it.

It’s a Wednesday morning that Dean stakes out the Novak house. He watches Mr. Novak leave early in the morning, and Gabe, Cas, and Anna not long after. Dean swears he catches Cas looking his way, but decides not to dwell on it.

He’s not even thinking about the curious pinch that undoubtedly appears between Castiel’s eyebrows, or the way his lips purse up in that little pout.

Dean rubs his eyes.

This shit is getting out of hand.

He shakes himself out of it and steels his nerves. If his dad can do this, if Uncle Bobby can do this, then so can he.

Dean walks down to the Novak house with his shoulders squared and knocks on the front door.

He knows Mrs. Novak is going to answer, and yet when she opens the door, Dean’s nerves fray at every possible end.

“Hello, Dean,” she greets, confused. “What are you doing here sweetheart?”

Dean gulps. He’s cool, everything’s cool. He just wants to talk to her. Why is it so hard to just say that?

“Uh, hi Mrs. Novak,” he greets. “Um, I was wondering if I could come in?”

Shit, he sounds like a damn idiot.

“Of course, honey,” she steps aside. “Is everything all right?”

_Just fine_ , Dean thinks to himself. _Say, wanna tell me about your dead kid?_

“Come on, I’ll make you something,” she brings him into the kitchen and sits him at the table.

He’s never had much interaction with Mrs. Novak, but Sam warned him that she likes to feed people.

Sam is still not convinced that she’s not trying to fatten him up for their next Christmas feast.

“Do you like quiche?” she asks.

“Do I like what?” Dean’s eyebrows go up.

Maybe she _is_ trying to fatten them up.

“I made a spinach and bacon quiche for dinner last night,” she explains. “There’s enough left for one helping.”

“What’s a quiche?” Dean asks.

She pulls a pie tin out of the fridge and shows him.

“Think of it as an omelet in a pie crust,” she says.

“Yes please,” Dean nods then, and Mrs. Novak laughs.

She heats it up and sets the plate down in front of Dean.

Jesus, now he knows why Sammy sticks around here. He forgot what it’s like to be doted on by a mom. 

She sets a glass of juice in front of him a few moments later and then notices the hole in Dean’s jacket arm.

“If you want, I can mend that for you,” she says. Dean looks up at her, mouth full of omelet pie, and swallows hard.

“It’s no trouble,” she insists. She has that same serious look on her face that Cas gets whenever he offers to do something nice.

It makes Dean a little uncomfortable.

He takes his jacket off anyway, and she drapes it over the chair across from him before she disappears without another word.

O… _kay_.

He sucks in a breath because he swears something moves out of the corner of his eye, but it’s just the curtains rustling on the window.

Mrs. Novak returns with a box and sets it down on the table. Before she sits, she pours herself a glass of orange juice and tops it off with—wow, tops it off with a generous helping of vodka.

“Um, Mrs. Novak?” Dean asks as she opens up the box.

A sewing kit, Dean guesses. 

“Yes, sweetheart,” she hums, concerned mainly with the juice in her hand and the hole in Dean’s jacket.

“Have you,” Dean clears his throat. “Ha-have you noticed anything weird lately?”

“Aside from a school-aged teenager knocking on my door at nine in the morning?” she asks without looking up. “Why aren’t you in school, Dean?”

The question makes his face burn.

“I got my GED last year,” he explains, and leaves it at that.

“Do you work?” she asks.

Dean curses himself. Isn’t his dumb ass supposed to be interrogating her? Not the other way around.

“I bus tables,” he supplies.

“Well,” she sighs. “The world needs busboys too, I suppose.”

Fuck.

Dean has only heard stories about this woman, hasn’t actually had the distinct displeasure of having an actual conversation with her.

No wonder Gabriel pounds back booze like nobody’s business.

“Actually,” Dean ignores the jab—it’s not the first and it won’t be the last. “I meant something a little more along the lines of strange things happening in the house. Things aren’t where you left them, any cold patches or, um,” he clears his throat. “Black goo?”

Mrs. Novak looks up from mending Dean’s jacket and raises an eyebrow.

“Are you on drugs?” she asks. 

Shit. Dean reassures her that no, he is not, but she doesn’t seem too convinced.

Dean clears his plate, because that’s what’s polite, and Mrs. Novak makes him feel very shitty for not being more polite. He stands with his back a little straighter and his shoulders a little more squared.

“Dean,” Mrs. Novak says as he turns back to her. Her juice is gone and her needlework has gotten a little sloppier. “You look like you know your way around a toolbox. Would you mind helping me with a few things around the house today?”

Dean perks up. That actually works well to his advantage. First of all, he really does like fixing things, and second of all, that’s a perfect opportunity to poke around without it looking too suspicious.

The first task she sets for him is fixing the leaky showerhead in the master bathroom. It should be easy enough, and even better she leaves him be once he gets set up.

He fixes the leak with ease, and then slinks out of the bathroom and into the master bedroom. It’s impeccably kept, though Dean has to say he sort of expected the hallmark one bedroom, two beds from 1950s sitcoms.

There are pictures on the dresser, all of the kids when they’re much younger.

Lucifer’s picture is nowhere to be found, however.

“Fucked up,” he mutters, though he supposes they don’t keep any pictures of his mom around for what’s likely the same reason.

All through the house as he walks back downstairs, there are very few pictures of Lucifer, and the ones that remain bear no similarities to the Lucifer he so briefly met in Castiel’s bed the other day.

The Lucifer in these pictures, while young, looks well kept. Though he smiles, there’s nothing behind his eyes that indicates he feels anything.

“Christ, anyone ever check this kid’s scalp for triple sixes,” Dean mutters to himself, and turns to keep walking down the hall.

Next, Dean changes the oil in Mrs. Novak’s family van and adds more coolant to the radiator.

When he comes back inside, Mrs. Novak has moved onto a glass of wine and has prepared a sandwich for Dean.

“I was right,” she hums, “You are very handy.”

She’s in much better spirits now.

He eats his sandwich in silence, occasionally glancing over to monitor Mrs. Novak at the cutting board. Dean doesn’t know how many glasses of wine she’s had exactly, but she probably shouldn’t be wielding a kitchen knife without supervision.

“Mrs. Novak,” he pipes up then. She hums from her place at the counter, and Dean sits up. “Why aren’t there any pictures of Lucifer anywhere?”

She stops chopping instantly and looks back at Dean, face muddled with bewilderment.

“Who—” she grabs the cross around her neck. “How do you know about Lucifer?”

“Castiel and Gabriel,” Dean explains. “Why aren’t there any pictures of him?”

She visibly bristles at even bringing up the subject.

“That’s not an appropriate discussion to be having, Dean,” she says very plainly and turns back to her cutting board.

A nonexistent breeze ruffles the curtains again.

Shit.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters and goes back to his sandwich.

He finishes and stands to bring his plate to the sink. When he looks back at the table he sees Lucifer sitting in his seat, arms folded and boots kicked up on the chair beside him. Dean goes still, but Mrs. Novak doesn’t seem to notice.

Before Dean can tap her on the shoulder and beg her to look, Lucifer raises an eyebrow and then, surprisingly, his middle finger before he disappears from view again.

For being dead, Lucifer is kind of a dick.

“I’d better get going,” Dean supplies quickly and grabs his jacket off of the table. “My shift starts soon.”

It’s a lie, but Mrs. Novak doesn’t catch it. He thanks her for the sandwich and the quiche, and the patchwork on his jacket, and heads out the front door.

Once back home, Dean entertains the idea of calling Uncle Bobby, but ultimately decides against it. Uncle Bobby doesn’t like the idea of Dean or Sam getting into The Life, but he knows that’s where Dean will end up at least. It doesn’t keep him from giving Dean hell every once in a while for being so excited about ganking monsters and ghostbusting.

Nope, this is one haunting he’s just going to have to tackle alone.

**oo**

Lisa works at a diner that makes some of the best pie that Dean has ever had. Gabriel, being just desperate enough to get out of his house, allows Dean (who is, for the time being, without a car) to pull him in on pie runs.

Lisa works the register and the counter at the diner, and on her breaks she’s allowed to sit with Dean and Gabriel and have a glass of Coke and a plate of fries.

“What’re you reading, Gabriel?” asks Lisa as she leans over the table. 

“Porn,” Gabriel returns.

“Yeah right,” Lisa scoffs. “Seriously, you have to tell me if you’re studying for Mr. Van Kirk’s final.”

Gabriel lets out a laugh, “I’m sure as shit not doing that. Fuck psychology, I don’t even know why I’m taking it.”

“Then what _are_ you reading?” she frowns and plucks the book from in front of him.

“Lisa!”

“… _the Tassajara Bread Book_ ,” she frowns. “What’s that for?”

“Uh, for bread baking,” Gabriel comes back, as though it should be obvious, and snatches the book away from her.

“Why would you bake bread?” asks Dean through a mouthful of pecan pie. “They sell it at the store.”

“I didn’t know you baked, Gabriel,” Lisa says. 

“Oh, I _bake_ ,” Gabriel nods, and then looks up to find Lisa’s very tired eye roll coming right back at him. He replies, seriously this time, “Yeah, I bake.”

He doesn’t elaborate, just opens up his book again and grabs the back of his neck as he reads.

“You two go about your business,” he does say, though, and Dean studies him for a moment. He curls in on himself exactly the way Cas does when he’s studying something he finds profoundly interesting, gets a similar look of concentration on his face.

Just as Castiel’s face can light up like Gabriel’s when he allows himself to have fun.

Lisa looks at Dean, who shrugs back and takes another bite of his pie.

“So, listen,” Lisa starts in on another conversation, and fuck, how do girls _do_ that? “Homecoming is coming up and even though I’d _love_ to ask you to come, I can’t bring anyone who doesn’t go to my school.”

“Oh,” Dean swallows. He catches Gabriel looking up at them, specifically him, out of the corner of his eye, but doesn’t draw attention to it. “That’s cool,” Dean clears his throat. “Dances are kind of lame anyway, right?”

Gabriel snorts into his root beer and Lisa gives him a weathered look before turning back to Dean.

“I’m on the homecoming committee,” she says. “You know that.”

Dean chokes on his next bite of pie and swallows hard.

“You didn’t let me finish,” he says. “Dances are kind of lame anyway, right, when they’re not planned by you.”

He offers her a weak smile, at which she rolls her eyes again.

Gabriel is doing a very bad job of not laughing.

“Smooth,” Lisa comes back. “So you don’t mind if I take someone else.”

“Nah,” Dean shrugs. “It’s your party, you can take who you want to.”

“Seriously,” Lisa raises her eyebrows, and Dean nods, because why wouldn’t he be serious?

“Yeah,” he says. “We’re dating, not married.”

Gabriel’s eyes go wide at that, and he buries his face in his book. Dean’s about to ask what’s wrong when Lisa answers for him.

Or, doesn’t answer?

She doesn’t say anything, just nods and gets up from the table, leaving her fries and soda behind.

As soon as he’s sure she’s gone, Gabriel reaches across the table and slides the fries over in front of him.

“What the hell was that?” asks Dean.

“That was you fucking up,” Gabriel replies around a mouthful of potato. 

“How did I fuck up?”

“You just told her you don’t care if she goes to a dance with someone else,” Gabriel’s eyebrows contort up. “Christ, in high school that’s like telling someone you don’t care if they have a torrid affair with your sister.”

“I don’t care if she goes with someone else, though,” Dean reasons. “She’s not my girlfriend, I don’t have girlfriends.”

“You ever told her that?” Gabriel taps the side of his head. “You gotta think about that kinda shit. Not everyone’s got your sense of detachment.”

“What detachment?” Dean throws down his fork. “Just because I’m smart enough not to get involved with every person I fuck, now I’ve got a _sense of detachment_ Dr. Fucking Phil?”

“Hostile denial,” Gabriel sing-songs.

“Really?” Dean wads up his straw wrapper and throws it at Gabriel’s face. “Aren’t you the one who said psychology is a waste of time?”

“The class is,” Gabriel agrees. “Because I know it all already.”

“You’re a psychic now,” Dean scoffs. “Makes sense.”

“Call me now for your free tarot reading,” Gabriel winks back.

A moment of silence stretches between them before Gabriel speaks up again, “You really did piss her off, though. I’d give her a while to cool down.”

“Great,” Dean groans. Just because he doesn’t do relationships or long term dating doesn’t mean that he likes having girls pissed off at him. Especially Lisa, because Lisa is actually pretty cool. She plays percussion in her school’s band and works at a diner and sometimes lets Dean have free pie, and she lets him play with her vibrators which _not a lot of girls will do for a guy, okay_.

She’s so cool and laid back, and somehow Dean managed to piss her off.

But Dean would, wouldn’t he?

If it’s un-fuck-upable, Dean Winchester can fuck it up. That’s just a fact.

At least pie never stops tasting good, no matter how much he manages to fuck up.

**oo**

Of course Gabriel and Kali are on-again just as soon as Dean pisses off Lisa, which means Dean is caught between sitting at home, researching random shit for dad, and hanging out with Sam and Cas.

Except, today when he comes downstairs (after having slept until three o’clock yet again), he finds Sam sitting on the couch, pouring over his homework with someone who is very much not Cas.

Her name is Ruby, and Dean’s brain is so sleep addled and fixated on Cas that it’s hard to register that this is not Cas.

There’s a knock on the door, but before Sam can leap up to answer it, Dean opens it, still in only his boxers and an old AC/DC t-shirt that’s falling apart at the seams.

“Oh,” Castiel averts his eyes, “Hello, Dean.”

“There you are,” Dean rubs the afternoon sunlight out of his eyes.

“Is Sam home?” Cas asks. “He never texted me after school.”

“Hey, Cas,” Sam comes to the door. “Sorry, I made plans to study with a friend.”

“A friend,” Cas repeats. “Oh. Well, get back to studying. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Hang on,” Dean interjects loudly, and points at Cas, “You, come with me.”

Castiel, confused as ever, follows Dean up the stairs and into his and Sam’s room. He shuts the door behind him and commands, “Sit. I’ll get dressed, we’ll hang out.”

“Okay,” Cas frowns and crosses his legs on top of Dean’s bedspread. Dean slips out of his boxers and pulls the dresser drawer open, pretending he doesn’t hear the sharp intake of breath from Cas over on the bed.

Dean may not be much, but if he knows one thing, he is goddamned sexy as fuck. He glances back at Cas and sees that he’s deliberately looking elsewhere, and Dean can’t help it.

He grins and asks as he slides on a new set of boxers, “Never seen a dick before?”

“Not one that isn’t attached to me or my brothers, no,” Castiel replies, still not looking at him.

Dean chuckles and pulls on a pair of jeans from his side of the room. It looks like they have the room divided down the middle, the only speck of floor visible on Dean’s side a walkway to the door.

He swaps out his shirt for another, one that’s just as old but not nearly as worn, and slips on the jacket Mrs. Novak mended for him.

“Ready?”

Cas nods, and Dean holds out a hand to help him up. He doesn’t know why, he knows Cas can get up on his own, but Cas takes it anyway and lets Dean help heave him up. He likes the weight of Cas’ hands in his, the feel of his callused guitarist fingers brushing below his thumb and over his wrist.

Dean’s hands are rough for other reasons, bulky and square and not nearly as finely crafted as Castiel’s.

As they come back down the stairs, Dean waves, “Later, nerds,” and he and Cas stride down the walkway side by side.

“Can you take your mom’s car?” asks Dean, and Castiel shrugs.

“I suppose,” he nods.

The van is an atrocity, though at least well kept on the inside. There’s a sweet air freshener dangling from the rear view that makes Dean gag, though, and he tears it off.

“Strawberry Fields, my left nut,” he stuffs the freshener into the glove compartment as Castiel adjusts and checks his mirrors.

He glances over at Dean and says, “Seatbelt.”

Dean winces at him, but complies.

Gabriel’s right, Cas drives like he’s eighty. Not a notch above the speed limit anywhere, and with such practiced precision that it actually makes Dean groan.

“Forgive me for not tearing down the road like a maniac,” Castiel replies to Dean’s hundredth sigh. “I happen to value my life and yours, so I’m being cautious.”

For whatever reason, that unsettles Dean’s stomach, but he shuts up after that.

“Dean, would you mind coming with me to the music store?” asks Cas as they get further into town. “I want to pick up some new books.”

“Fuck yeah, man, let’s go,” Dean grins. This he can do, help Cas journey further on his quest to become less culturally challenged.

They park across the street from the first music shop Cas’ fancy smart phone would find and head in.

It’s actually amazing to see the look on Cas’ face as he stops and takes in the sheer wonder of the guitars lining the walls. Acoustic and electric in all different colors and shapes, Cas looks like he wants to touch every single one of them.

“Hello, boys,” greets the man behind the counter. “What can I do you for?”

“My friend here is in the market for a new guitar,” says Dean, and Cas gives him a look.

“Dean, I’m not—”

“Sure you are,” Dean claps him on the back and looks back at the salesman. “He’s making the switch from acoustic to electric. Got anything good?”

“Well, you’ve come to the right place, boy, I’ll tell you that,” the salesman whistles. He takes a shiny black guitar off the wall and plugs it into an amp. He strums a few chords and tells Cas about a few of the features. Dean loves music, but he’s never known all the hocus pocus that went into making instruments sound the way they sound.

The salesman hands the guitar to Cas.

“Give it a try,” he offers.

Cas takes the guitar and, with a tentative look at Dean, lets his fingers fly into the Cantina Band song from Star Wars again. He looks surprised that he can play it on this guitar, and Dean grins.

“Damn, kid,” the salesman whistles. “You’re pretty good.”

“Thanks,” Cas presses his palm to the strings to silence the instrument. He looks back at Dean and smiles.

“Don’t hold back, kid, give it some juice,” the salesman chuckles. Cas snags his lip between his teeth, sifting through his repertoire before he starts in on something else.

Actually, he mouths a few words, getting himself on tempo before he launches in full force.

Holy shit, that’s… That’s Led Zeppelin.

That’s fucking Misty Mountain Hop.

Did he just work out how to play that by ear?

Cas loses himself in it, fingers expertly pulling heavy tones from the instrument. It’s a goddamned gorgeous sight, Dean doesn’t mind saying. As he plays through the song, Cas loosens. His shoulders drop, his spine curves with every note, his head bobs with every punctuation.

Jesus, Dean just wants to launch forward, salesman be damned, and kiss that blessed out look right off of Cas’ face.

All Cas ends up buying is a few tab books for some of the songs he’s heard but can’t quite make work on his own.

The guitar isn’t quite in his budget, and Dean has half a mind to case the place and perform an after-hours extraction.

“You’re not stealing a guitar for me,” Cas says very frankly as he starts up his mom’s van. “For the love of God, I feel like I should not have to tell you that.”

Dean laughs and looks over at him. Cas is smiling, though, like he’s just managed to have fun, and Dean can’t stop looking at the stretch of his lips or the way his fingers curve around the steering wheel.

They stop along the way home to get burgers, one for each of them this time, and eat in the way back of the van. Dean’s feet are up on the middle seats in front of them, while Castiel tucks one leg under the other, indulging in the greasy fast food.

“I wish I could live in this burger,” says Cas.

Dean snorts.

“The fuckin’ dream,” he agrees. “Better than going home, right? At least you could eat your way out of this one.”

Cas gives a smile, though there’s a note of sadness behind it that Dean can’t help but notice.

“Dean,” Cas breaks their amiable silence, and Dean looks over at him, knowing he’s got shit all over his face. Cas laughs at that and hands Dean a napkin.

“Do you think the spirits of our loved ones can manifest in this world?”

Dean blinks a few times and swallows his mouthful of burger.

“Was that you asking me if I believe in ghosts?” he asks.

“I—“ Cas opens his mouth to defend himself, but quickly quiets. “It was, yes.”

Dean’s brain snaps back into action.

“Why?” he asks. “What have you seen?”

Cas shifts at that, and looks around to make sure nobody is anywhere near them. Dean wants to remind him that they’re in a car, that the cone of silence is in effect starting now, but Cas’ concerned face is too distracting.

“You can’t laugh,” he warns Dean, and Dean nods. “I doubt you'll even believe me,” Cas sighs.

“Try me,” Dean sits up and swings his legs over onto the seat, now facing Cas.

Cas sighs again and folds his legs up crisscross, resting his elbows on his knees.

Fucker is _bendy_. 

“I saw my brother,” he says and immediately shuts his eyes. “Lucifer, before you come back with some smartass remark.”

Dean lets out a laugh, because fuck, hearing Cas swear is like hearing the goddamned angels sing.

It just _does_ things to him.

“Where’d you see him?” Dean asks, trying to remain professional, as he’s seen his dad do hundreds of times. Cas is his friend, though, and it's hard to remain impartial when you're helping a friend.

“In my house,” Cas sets his burger down. “In my room and in my bed.”

“Ever out of the house?” Dean continues, and Cas shakes his head.

“He doesn’t talk,” Cas continyues. “And he disappears as soon as I get a good look at him, but I’m positive it’s him.”

“Okay, so have _you_ noticed anything else out of the ordinary in the house?” asks Dean. “Stuff that’s out of place, or ectoplasm or anything like that?”

“Ectoplasm?” Cas laughs. “I wouldn’t even know it if I saw i—wait.” He frowns, and then realizes, “You believe me.”

“Yeah, man,” Dean nods, smiling at the way Cas’ face relaxes. “More than believe you.”

Cas cocks his head at that, and shit, Dean’s already said way too much. He’s in way over his head with all of this—like he can fucking hunt on his own.

He’s such an idiot.

But Cas is there and he’s smiling at him and no one has _ever_ looked at him this way. Even the girls he’s made come with just his tongue and his fingers have never looked at him that way.

“How do you more than believe me?” Cas asks then, and Dean sighs.

Cas won’t judge him. Cas is the one who brought up ghosts in the first place. Cas won’t run away or call him stupid or, worse, call the police.

If he tells Cas that he and his family hunt monsters, he may actually just believe him.

“Because I know a lot about ghosts,” Dean finally mutters. “And I think… I think I can help you.”


	8. Gather Your Wits and Hold on Fast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Give us a room and close the door,  
> Leave us for a while.  
> Your boy won't be a boy no more  
> Young, but not a child."
> 
> The Acid Queen - The Who

Dean believes in ghosts.

Under any other circumstance, Castiel would find that a disturbing affirmation, but seeing how he’s woken up every morning for a week now seeing Lucifer around his bedroom, he’s willing to explain it any way that he can.

He doesn’t think he’s experiencing any psychosis.

Then again, psychotics don’t generally think they’re psychotic, do they?

“You’re fine,” Gabriel rolls his eyes as they drive home from school one afternoon. “I’d tell you if you were psychotic.”

Considering Gabriel spends most of his days slugging back whatever cheap liquor he can siphon off of their mom, it’s not exactly a comforting thought.

But it also makes Castiel wonder if he should try talking to Gabriel about the alcohol and the drugs again. If Gabriel would tell Castiel that he’s psychotic, why shouldn’t Castiel tell Gabriel that he’s getting out of control? 

He doesn’t get to say anything, though. As soon as Castiel and Gabriel round the corner onto their street, they see their mother balancing on a ladder out in the front yard, her forearms tangled in Christmas lights and her equilibrium looking severely out of whack.

“Mom!” Castiel calls as soon as he’s out of the car. He runs over and steadies the ladder immediately on one side, Gabriel then dropping his bag and doing the same on the other.

“Oh, hi boys,” she hums, as though she hadn’t been expecting them to notice her struggling.

“What the hell are you doing up there?” Gabriel calls, and mom has the nerve to chastise him for his language.

“Mom, Gabriel does have a point,” Castiel shields his eyes from the sun. “What _are_ you doing up there?”

“Well,” she tugs at the light string, and Castiel and Gabriel both start, poised to catch her should she fall. “Since I married a man who can’t pull his sorry keester away from  work during the light of day, and since I managed to get stuck with two of the most ill-equipped sons on the face of God’s green earth, I’m pulling down Christmas lights. It’s nearly February, and I am pulling down Christmas lights.”

“She’s right, you guys are kind of assholes.”

Gabriel and Castiel both leap back from the ladder, both stunned by the sight of Lucifer sitting on a branch in the tree, gazing upon the situation with a bored look on his face.

“Holy fuck!” Gabriel shouts, though that could be from where he goes flying into a rose bush up against the side of the house.

It’s not.

Castiel can tell by the look in his eyes that Gabriel sees exactly what he sees.

“Boys!” is all they hear their mom shout before the ladder gives out and she falls down onto the yellowing lawn below.

“Ouch,” Lucifer hisses. “Smooth move, dickbags.”

He disappears, and both Castiel and Gabriel are stunned beyond speech. Castiel is the first to come back to reality, his mom’s distressed cries sending his brain into overdrive.

“Mom, are you okay?” he stoops beside her. She clutches her arm and shakes her head, tears rolling down her cheeks. Her arm is already starting to swell, and Castiel curses internally.

“Gabriel, give me the keys,” he stretches out his palm. Gabriel is still too shocked to do anything other than stare at the tree, hands bleeding from the thorny bushes. “Gabe!” he shouts this time, and Gabriel comes to. He shakily reaches for the keys and drops them into Castiel’s hand.

“Did you just—“

“Yes,” Castiel replies. “I’m taking mom to the emergency room. Can you pick Anna up from Girl Scouts?”

Gabriel, too shocked to say anything, simply nods.

“Good,” Castiel nods back and helps his mom to the car. He can smell the sour wine on her breath as she chokes out a few sobs, and he tries not to let the irritation burrowing in the back of his mind get the best of him.

It is the first time he’s intentionally driven over the speed limit, though.

Gabriel would be proud.

Once in the ER, Castiel comes to the realization that it’s her left arm that his mom has hurt. And even if she hadn’t just hurt the arm she uses to write with, Castiel would probably have filled out her forms for her anyway.

He’s also the one responsible for calling Dad and letting him know what happened. 

“Why was she on a ladder to begin with?” Dad exclaims into the phone.

“She was taking down Christmas lights because she said none of us would,” Castiel replies.

There’s a long silence on the phone before Dad asks, “Were you supposed to take them down?”

“No, she never told me or Gabriel,” Castiel shakes his head, though he knows his dad can’t see. He swallows hard then, and musters up the guts to say, “Dad, she’s been drinking.”

“Castiel, we’ve been over this,” says Dad. “It’s not up for discussion.”

“I don’t understand,” Castiel frowns. “If it’s a problem, shouldn’t we be discussing it?”

“You’re not  _equipped_  to discuss this, Castiel, this is an adult conversation,” says Dad. “And that’s final, do you understand me? You don’t need to know anything else.”

“Dad—”

“Tell your mom I’ll be there as soon as I can,” Dad says. “End of discussion.”

He hangs up before Castiel can get another word in, and Castiel scowls.

Not equipped to discuss this? How in the hell is Castiel not equipped to discuss something that not only concerns him, not only his mother, but his brothers and sister as well? It sets a fire low in his stomach and prickles the hairs on the back of his neck.

Still, he sits beside his mom and tries as best as he can to be loving and supportive, but he’s crap when it comes to this kind of thing. Gabriel is better at taking people’s minds off of things, can coax a smile out of anyone. Castiel doesn’t know how to be anything but honest about what he sees and feels.

And this right here? This is fucked up.

They take his mom back for x-rays, leaving Castiel to sit in the waiting room with nothing but his phone to keep him occupied. He texts Raphael to let him know what’s going on, and asks if he’ll talk to Michael.

The thought of talking to Michael unsettles Castiel greatly.

When Dad arrives, Castiel bristles.

“Where’s mom?”

Castiel tosses his head back toward the door out of the waiting room without making eye contact. If dad believes Castiel is being rude, he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he goes up to the nurse at the front desk and simply asks to be shown back to his wife.

“I’ve got it from here, Castiel,” says dad. “You can go home.”

Without a word, Castiel stands and strides out of the room. If he’s not equipped to have a discussion, he just won’t talk at all. He doesn’t care that it’s childish, or that dad could ground him into next year for having such an attitude.

It’s best to hold his tongue and do as he’s told anyway. Less heartache and aggravation this way, he finds.

Except the burning in his stomach doesn’t go away, and neither does the red edge around his vision.

By the time he gets home, Castiel is sufficiently pissed off. He could pray every night, every moment of every day, and still feel like kicking a hole through a wall. Anger doesn’t do anything but cause strife, he knows, but—

But that doesn’t make it go away.

Castiel blows past Anna and Gabriel and storms upstairs, not to his room but to the guest bathroom. He climbs into the tub and draws his knees up to his chest.

He sits there and focuses on the drain, on the ring of shower scum around the edges and the lone spider sitting on the edge of the drain. He puts out of his mind the hurt on his mother’s face and the stoic refusal to feel in his father’s entire demeanor.

Castiel puts it all out of his mind and leans forward to scoop the spider into his hand.

He lets the spider crawl over his fingers, following it with his eyes until a calm settles over him and he can breathe again.

Eventually, he lets the spider go free in the out the window, on the side of the house, and washes his hands.

And then washes them again.

And then again, this time to get under his fingernails and between his fingers.

He washes and scratches until the backs of his hands are red, and his skin starts to sting, and he finally stops.

Crap.

Castiel balls his hands up into fists and makes a hasty exit. Back downstairs, Gabriel stands over a pan, spreading something that smells exquisite in a pan. He looks to Anna and sees her attacking a stack of pancakes pretty enthusiastically.

“Hey, bro,” Gabe greets. “Shortstack?”

Castiel nods and sits beside Anna at the table.

It’s hardly odd to see Gabriel look so at home doing something, but here he whistles as he flips a pancake in midair, happy as a clam, _whistling_ to himself.

He’s high, he must be.

When he sets the pancakes down, Castiel gets a whiff of his sweater and determines that yes, Gabriel is high as a kite.

But he makes really good pancakes.

Criminally good pancakes.

“What’s in these?” asks Castiel through a full mouth.

“Put cinnamon sugar in the batter,” Gabriel shrugs. “And I used buttermilk. Good, right?”

“They’re amazing,” Castiel gulps them down. Gabriel sits down with them a few minutes later, buttered pancakes stacked high and drenched in powdered sugar.

“That’s a lot of sugar,” Anna comments.

“It sure as shit is, kid,” Gabriel grabs the maple syrup from in front of her and tops it all off with a generous pour.

“That’s diabetes on a plate, is what it is,” Castiel says. Gabriel shrugs and stuffs a generous bite into his mouth.

They eat in amiable silence until Castiel looks at Anna, really looks at her, and notices a large bruise on her forearm.

“Anna, what is that?”

Anna hides her arm under the table.

“Anna,” Castiel sits up, squaring his shoulders in the big brother way that Michael and Raphael always did, and still do.

“It’s nothing,” she frowns and pokes the tines of her fork into the spongey, syrupy mass on her plate. But Castiel doesn’t relent in his gaze and so Anna falters.

“Naomi started it!” Anna exclaims. “After school, she was making fun of my hair.”

Gabriel raises an eyebrow.

“So you got in a fight with her?”

But before Anna can answer, mom and dad walk through the door and into the kitchen.

Mom has a bright pink cast wrapped around her arm and a look on her face like she’s been given some of the best painkillers on the planet.

“Clean break,” says Dad. “Should heal up fine. The doctor said it was a miracle she didn’t get more hurt, falling from so high.”

“Yeah, well, copious amounts of booze’ll do that to you,” Gabriel mutters. Dad hears, though, and strides over to them. He surveys each of their plates and lets out a sigh.

“Clean this up before we get ants,” is all he says before he helps mom upstairs and into bed.

Mom trips over the bottom step, and dad lets out an impatient sigh.

“Well, that’s what comes from too much pills and liquor,” Gabriel tuts, looking to be entirely unfazed by the interaction as he continues eating.

Anna glances at Castiel before she picks up her plate and washes it off in the sink.

“I have homework,” she says, and grabs her backpack from the floor by her chair.

They hear her door slam shut.

“Okay,” Gabriel turns to Castiel, tone hushed and face as serious as it can get. “Can we please discuss the fucking elephant in the room here?”

“Hey, I’m not the one getting fat.”

Castiel and Gabriel both jump at Lucifer’s sudden presence. The room has gotten much colder, Castiel notices, but Lucifer is about as clear as Castiel has seen him. He almost looks real.

“Fuck,” Gabriel grabs his hair in his hands. “Fuck, no more sativa.”

“You’re not hallucinating, shit-for-brains,” Lucifer rolls his eyes.

“Then how are we seeing you?” asks Castiel. “Lucifer, you’re dead.”

Lucifer blinks back and shouts, loudly, “I’m _what_? And no one _told me_?!”  

“Gabriel!” Dad calls down the stairs, and Lucifer disappears. “No yelling in the house, your mother is not feeling well.”

“It wasn’t me!” Gabriel calls back, but Castiel claps a hand over his mouth before he can say, _‘It was Lucifer_.’

When Lucifer reappears, he’s sitting on top of the counter across the kitchen regarding an apple he’s plucked off the counter.

“And, for the record, sativa doesn’t make you hallucinate dead family members,” he tosses the apple at Gabriel, who, miraculously, manages to catch it without issue. “Later, fuckers.”

Gabriel lets out a breath he’s been holding, panting like he’s just run a marathon.

“Cas,” he mutters. “Is our house haunted?”

Castiel doesn’t say anything, just removes the apple from Gabriel’s hand and pats him on the back. 

**oo**

Castiel knocks firmly on the Winchesters’ door at about quarter ‘til midnight.

Because someone has it out for him, it’s Sam who answers the door, and crap, he actually looks kind of happy to see him.

“Dude, I was just about to text you!” he pulls Cas inside excitedly. “I got a whole bunch of new comics today _. Uncanny X-Men_ , man!”

Sam grabs him by the sleeve of his sweater, tugging him towards the spread of comics on the coffee table, but sure enough, that’s when Dean emerges from the kitchen, eating a bowl of Lucky Charms.

Jeans slung low on his hips and rumpled, well-loved t-shirt hanging off of him, Dean looks like something straight out of Castiel’s most erotic fantasies. He doesn’t care much for wild flights of fancy—Dean doing anything to him, right now, is fantasy enough.

“Hey,” he greets.

“Hi,” Castiel’s voice manages to crack on one syllable.

Double crap.

“How’s it goin’?” Dean asks, pretending not to notice that Castiel is about fifty different shades of red.

“He didn’t come here to see you, jerk,” Sam snaps back.

“Um, actually,” Castiel begins, and Sam turns this _look_ back on him. It’s the same look, Castiel imagines, that creeps up onto his face whenever Sam is too busy for him.

“Fuck yeah, man,” Dean grins. “We gonna steal that guitar tonight or what?”

“May I talk to you?” Castiel simply asks back. The mirth drains from Dean’s face almost immediately. He sets his bowl down, somewhere he’ll say he’ll remember to get it from but won’t. Castiel tries to send an apologetic look to Sam, but the damage is done. He sits back down at the table and picks up one of his comics, curling into it.

Dean leads Castiel into his room and shuts the door behind him.

“What’s up?” he asks.

“My family,” Castiel replies without preamble and sits down on Dean’s bed. “Do you have any pot?”

Dean blinks, taken aback by the request, but he nods all the same.

“Yeah, man,” he rifles around in his duffle bag and procures his box of weed. He sits on the bed beside Castiel and pulls out a joint, already rolled, from inside.

“Gabe rolled this one,” Dean sticks it between his lips. “Fucking artist, that man.”

He lights the joint and Castiel watches as his thick lips purse, sucking in the smoke. He does this a few times before he passes it to Castiel.

Castiel, meanwhile, is still a novice when it comes to this kind of thing. He at least manages to take in one lungful without succumbing to a coughing fit, though the second one doesn’t hold the same promise.

They smoke in silence, and Castiel lets the THC take effect. His nerves quell, his face and spine relax. He loosens and contorts, bending until he’s in a comfortable stretch. Dean watches this take place, and laughs at Castiel outright.

“And what, may I ask, is so hilarious?” Castiel asks, grin plastered on his face.

“You,” Dean comes back, snickering as he exhales more smoke. Castiel sticks out his tongue, which only makes Dean laugh harder.

Wow it is nice to make Dean laugh

Gabriel is right, sometimes it is pretty good not having to think for a while.

“So,” Dean mouths around the joint. “Talk to me. The psychiatrist is in.”

Castiel snorts and props his chin in his palm.

“My mother’s an alcoholic,” he says.

It’s not as hard to say like this.

Another plume of smoke, and Dean comes back, voice tight, “Bummer.”

“ _Bummer_?” Castiel raises his eyebrows, because that’s _it_? That’s his sympathy?

It’s hard to be mad with his chest feeling so light, though.

Once the joint has dwindled, Dean stubs it out on the lid of the box and sets it aside.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Castiel decides, and Dean nods.

“Okay,” he mutters, pondering their options. Castiel ponders too, or tries, at least. What ends up happening is that he ends up just staring at Dean’s mouth for what feels like an eternity.

If this was a bad idea to come here, Cas can’t tell.

 _Cas_.

Dean calls him Cas.

“Hey,” Dean snaps then. “Did you ever listen to Tommy?”

Castiel shakes his head.

Dean slides off the bed and grabs his walkman—a walkman, good god, is it 1999?—from under a pile of crap on his and Sam’s dresser. He sits back with Castiel, their kneecaps touching as Dean checks to make sure he’s got the right CD in.

“Here,” he hands Cas an earbud. “New headphones, at least.”

Castiel smiles at him and leans close to insert the earbud. They don’t offer them a lot of room to move around, but if Dean doesn’t mind then neither does Castiel.

“So, this is a rock opera,” Dean explains. “First of its kind, actually. The Who’s fourth album—“

Castiel can only watch Dean’s lips move as they explain some history that, at the moment, Castiel couldn’t care less about.

When he notices that Castiel is staring at him, he doesn’t pull away or tell him to stop.

He just smiles back and presses play.

It’s not an instant love—definitely it starts as a curiosity. But as the music builds, even in just the overture, Castiel’s heart swells and finds room for yet more of Dean’s music. The guitar comes alive, spreading through his brain and down his spine, sending signals to the end of every single nerve that reminds Castiel, yes, he is alive.

And then the story starts, and Castiel swallows hard.

 _You didn’t see it_ , they sing. _You didn’t hear it. You never heard it. Not a word of it_.

And it keeps hearing it.

He keeps hearing these lines that resonate so hard with him that he can feel himself shake where he sits. He can feel Dean watching him.

He’s pretty sure he can feel everything.

Even Dean’s fingers as they trail over the backs of Castiel’s hands and up his arms.

And then definitely when Dean’s hands, warm and square, press into his cheeks and pull him forward into a kiss.

An actual _kiss_.

This is going remarkably like one of Castiel’s dreams, and for a few moments he’s convinced that that’s exactly what it is. It all makes sense, as everything about this moment is too beautiful to be real.

Dean’s lips are so full and rich between his, and greedily Castiel wants as much as he can get before he wakes.

He lets Dean’s tongue stroke between his lips, accustomed to the rush of feelings to his groin by now. These dreams all end the same, with getting an erection and waking up hard and longing.

Dean pulls away first, panting in hot breaths against Castiel’s lips.

“Goddamn,” he huffs.

For whatever reason, that jolts Castiel out of it, makes him realize that this is not a dream.

He just kissed Dean Winchester.

Sexy, funny, sweet Dean Winchester, who stitches up his own cuts and believes in ghosts.

He did it.

Or, Dean did, and he reciprocated.

So, Castiel figures it’s his turn now. He leans back in and comes in a little gentler, more tentative, because now that this is real, it’s a little more terrifying and thrilling and wonderful all at once.

Dean cradles Castiel’s head with one hand, fingers twining in his hair as the other hand roams down his side. This is definitely worth the massive erection he’ll be sporting when it’s all over, Castiel thinks, and lets Dean press him back into the tangle of bed sheets. 

They break for a moment, puffing breath against each other as loopy smiles return to their faces. Music still pipes into their ears, still floods Castiel’s mind and makes it impossible to pull away from the moment.

He touches Dean’s hair, strokes his fingertips over his cheeks. He can’t look away from Dean’s pretty (and they _are_ pretty) eyes, at least not until Dean breaks out into a smile and leans back down to kiss him again.

Castiel could get lost in this.

Truthfully, it feels like he already has become so.

Lost in Dean’s mouth, in the nest of blankets that engulf them in the smell of cheap detergent and pot smoke; entirely lost to the way that Dean’s hands and lips slip over him, lost in the attention paid to him.

His high, if possible, escalates. It’s not a giddy high, or a giggly high. It’s mellow.

He’s mellow.

Because everything about the way Dean’s tongue slips between his lips and strokes along the roof of his mouth— _every last thing about it_ is the most right he’s ever felt.

He sighs softly as Dean’s mouth pulls away from his and starts kissing over his jaw and down his neck. His eyes slip shut and he just floats there in the moment, comforted and contented by the fact that Dean has him in his arms.

That here he’s okay.

 **oo**  

Castiel wakes in the same position he fell asleep in: on his back with his legs spread to accommodate the boy above him.

Except there is no one above him, and no one beside him, just Dean’s bed under him and the mid-morning sunlight on his face.

He doesn’t know that he’ll be able to move, but he decides to give it a try anyway.

Or maybe will give it a try in a few minutes when his body decides it’s ready.

Castiel rolls over and sees both Winchester boys sacked out on Sam’s bed. Part of him is relieved, knowing that there’s no pressure or expectation. Another part of him, a significantly smaller part, wonders what it would be like to wake up with Dean’s arm slung over his waist and keeping him close.

Last night hits him hard then, and Castiel sits up, anxiety spiking through him.

He didn’t hate it, he doesn’t wish it didn’t happen, he’s just in shock. He, Castiel James Novak, got to kiss Dean Winchester.

And the world didn’t open up and swallow him whole; he wasn’t struck by lightning, isn’t wrought with the guilt he thought would come with kissing a boy.

He’s still Castiel.

Just, he’s now a Castiel that’s kissed a Dean.

Castiel pushes himself out of Dean’s bed and tiptoes over to him, kneeling beside him and pressing his hand into Dean’s shoulder.

Dean starts, bleary green eyes blinking open, delicious lips stretching into a hazy smile and stealing Castiel’s breath right out of his chest.  

“’morning,” Dean’s voice is gravelly with sleep, and it makes Castiel’s guts melt together in a gooey mess.

“Good morning,” he whispers. “Sorry I fell asleep.”

“S’all right,” Dean shifts, careful not to wake Sam behind him. “You needed it, I think.”

“Yeah, I did,” Castiel nods. “Thank you for letting me sleep in your bed.”

“No problem,” Dean’s smile persists, and Castiel timidly comes forward to kiss him. His lips land on the corner of Dean’s mouth, and it’s a little embarrassing, but Dean grins and moves so their lips are flush.

Even sober, this is still one of the best things Castiel has ever felt.

“Hang on,” Dean murmurs as they pull away. “I’ll walk you to the door.”

“Such a gentleman,” Sam mutters into his pillow, and Dean rolls his eyes.

“Sorry, Sam,” Castiel apologizes.

“S’okay, Cas,” Sam mutters. “Please don’t make out with my brother in my bed, though.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean presses Sam’s face into the pillow. “Don’t get your titties in a twist.”

Dean and Castiel plod downstairs, still addled by sleep. When they get to the front door, Dean pulls Castiel in by the wrist and kisses him again. They both have a pretty bad case of stale, smoky morning breath, but Castiel doesn’t care. Dean has him against the door, fingers in his hair and, _god_ , leg against Castiel’s groin.

Castiel pulls back.

“I have to go,” he mutters.  Dean’s cheeks go pink and he nods. He backs off, but Castiel, for fear that he’s offended Dean, gives him another kiss. Nothing fancy, mouths closed, but it’s meant to be more of a goodbye than an invitation for more.

Even though they kiss three more times before Castiel manages to pull himself away and start walking back home.

He almost loses his footing several times, because wow.

Did that actually just happen?

 _It did,_ Castiel grins to himself. _And it was spectacular._

So spectacular, in fact, that Castiel doesn’t even realize at first that his dad is waiting for him in the kitchen and is absolutely _livid_.

“Oh,” Castiel’s guilt overcomes him all at once. He’s not only sure that his dad knows who he was with, but just what they were doing together. Castiel can still smell Dean’s dried up spit on his neck, there’s no way his dad can’t.

“Castiel, this is absolutely inexcusable,” he reprimands.

“I apologize,” Castiel comes back very evenly, still feeling the effects of the THC in his body. “I didn’t realize my presence was so crucial to the function of the household.”

He realizes that, no, that probably was not the most sincere apology he’s ever made, but the words themselves are sincere.

Why should he be made to feel awful about having fun for once in his life? He’s sixteen, for heaven’s sake. Isn’t now the time of his life when he’s supposed to be making idiot mistakes, like smoking pot and making out with his best friend’s older brother?

“Castiel, there are rules,” says Dad. “And if you expect me to let you break them without punishment—”

“I don’t,” Castiel comes back. “I’m not Lucifer, I don’t expect to subvert the established order and come out clean.”

Dad’s face contorts with confusion, in the way Michael’s always did whenever Lucifer would do something impressively stupid, and he looks like he may reach forward and shake Castiel by the shoulders.

“So you’re deliberately disobeying,” he tries to understand.

And Castiel realizes, “Yes.”

That makes Dad look like he’s about ready to blow his top. Good, because Castiel could do with a little yelling right now. He waits patiently for Dad to lay into him, but it never comes. Instead, Dad takes a breath and rights himself.

“You know,” his voice comes out tight. “Your mother and I pray very, very hard for you kids.”

Castiel does not reply to this, just stares back and lets his dad decide when it’s time to continue.

“Two months,” he finally says. “You go to school, come home, do your homework, your chores, and absolutely nothing else. As a matter of fact, you’re getting all of Gabriel’s chores now too.”

“That’s fair,” Castiel agrees. “May I go now?”

That response seems to cross Dad’s wires, and Castiel takes advantage of the moment to go upstairs.

Unsurprisingly, Gabriel is waiting on the landing, eyes wide and this disbelieving smile on his face.

“When in the hell did your balls drop?” he asks.

Castiel shrugs and makes his way into their room. Gabriel doesn’t accept his lack of answer, and shuts and locks the door behind them once they’re alone.

“Dude, you knew you were gonna get fucked if you stayed out all night,” Gabriel whispers.

And at that, Castiel allows him to smile.

“Yeah, I did.”

“Fuck,” Gabriel’s shoulders drop. He comes forward and steadies Castiel’s face, checking each of his eyes. “It was ecstasy, wasn’t it? Cas, you never take anything anyone gives you—is that a fucking hickey?”

Gabriel’s thumb presses into exactly the spot Dean had bitten into on his neck this morning, and Castiel’s grin broadens.

“Oh, you _skank_ ,” Gabriel shakes his head. He’s smiling though. Last time Castiel checked, being a skank was not a good thing. “Who the hell did that?” Gabriel asks, giving Castiel a congratulatory shove on the shoulder.

“Dean,” Castiel’s smile won’t go away, even though he’s pretty sure his brother just insulted him. Even though he’s grounded for two months for not coming home last night, even though he has to (officially) do all of Gabriel’s chores now.

Even though Gabriel’s smile sort of fades.

“You… and Dean,” he repeats. “Dean Winchester.”

Castiel nods.

“Tall guy, big ol’ Rapunzel eyes, fingers-girls-in-public-bathroom-stalls Dean Winchester?”

“I’m assuming, yes,” Castiel nods. He thinks the comment about the girls is supposed to bother him, but it doesn’t.

Because last night Dean’s lips were on his, not anyone else’s.

Dean wouldn’t have kissed him if he hadn’t wanted to.

“Why?” asks Castiel.

“Just making sure we’re on the same page,” Gabriel stuffs his hands into his sweater pockets. Castiel doesn’t know how truthful he’s being, but if it even has the potential to bother him it does not.

He would stay out every night, be grounded for the rest of his life, if it meant feeling this good all the time.

“Well,” Gabriel gives a definitive nod. “Praise the lord and hallelujah.”

Castiel flops back onto his bed, cold and immaculate, and smiles at the ceiling.

Hallelujah indeed.

 


	9. When All the World's Asleep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Now watch what you say, or they'll be calling you a radical,  
> A liberal, fanatical, criminal.  
> Won't you sign up your name, we'd like to feel you're acceptable,  
> respectable, oh presentable, a vegetable."
> 
> The Logical Song - Supertramp

Being grounded doesn’t seem too bad until Castiel tries to leave the house to check on Sam. His mom may be drunk and laid up with a bad arm, but she is her husband’s wife, and as such enforces any and all rules he may lay down.

Though Castiel wishes he had it in himself to walk out in spite of her warnings, he forgoes cultivating a Luciferian level of defiance and slinks up to his room to stare at the ceiling.

Like he’s supposed to.

“You know,” says Lucifer one afternoon, appearing in Castiel’s desk chair. “The window is close enough to the trellis that you could scamper on down it.”

Castiel, still not used to seeing Lucifer, much less talking to him, remains silent as his heart slams in his chest. Lucifer raises his eyebrows, and, not one to be ignored, hollers, “This is ground control to Major Faggot. Come in, Major Faggot.”

“Don’t call me that,” Castiel snaps, sitting up just in time to see Lucifer’s eyes glint.

“Sorry, you talking to me?”

Castiel scowls and pulls his knees up to his chest.

“What do you want, Lucifer?”

Lucifer laughs to himself and stands, fuzzing in and out of focus until he eventually blips out altogether.

When he doesn’t return, Castiel sighs.

“That’s going to get very old very fast, Lucifer,” he points out, but gets no response. Whether it’s because Lucifer is just being an ass or if he’s really gone, Castiel can’t tell. “Lucifer?” he tests, but he doesn’t turn up again.

That’s pretty unsettling.

Castiel wonders if he should ask Dean if he knows anything about why Lucifer comes and goes so easily. Is it something even to know? It certainly couldn’t hurt to ask. Castiel pats around for his phone and remembers belatedly that his mom has it locked up.

He rolls to his feet and peers out the window. Indeed the trellis is close enough to, as Lucifer said, scamper on down. Castiel looks down the street at the Winchester house. The Impala is back in the driveway, which means that Mr. Winchester is home.

That would explain why Sam was so sour when he saw him on the way home today, and why Dean now storms out of the house, livid. He takes the car, which he’s probably not supposed to do, and tears down the street with an angry screech.

From here Castiel can hear indistinct yelling. What if Sam needs Castiel’s help and his parents are too wrapped up in punishing him that they fail to see that Sam’s needs would outweigh his?

Dean can at least escape to work, or out for a drive. Right now, Sam is stuck.

“Hey, kiddo,” Gabriel greets, and Castiel immediately dashes from the window to feign innocence.

It’s about as subtle as a freight train to the chest.

“Man, do I really have to tell you that peeping is not cool?” Gabriel asks. Castiel rolls his eyes, caught up in the Winchester house again. Sam is outside now, sitting on the curb with his forehead in his knees.

“Gabriel, I need a favor from you,” says Castiel.

“And what would that be, mon fraire?” Gabriel chimes as he reclines on his bed, cell phone in hand. Oh, now he’s just being a show-off.

“Go and tell Sam to come over later tonight,” Castiel sits cross-legged on his bedspread.

Gabriel raises an eyebrow.

“Why would I do that?”

“Because I can’t leave the house,” Castiel explains. “But he can sneak in here and hang out with us.”

Gabriel gives him a tired look, and so Castiel begs, “Please, I’m already doing all your chores, I already can’t leave the room. What do you want from me?”

On the end of a sigh, Gabriel pushes himself back up and pats Castiel’s shoulder. “Your pathetic groveling is enough to whet my appetite for the time being, buckaroo. Please hold while we transfer your call.”

Castiel snorts and returns to his perch by the window, willing Sam to stay put until Gabriel has a chance to get to him. Sam looks up just as Gabriel’s shadow falls over him.

They chat. Castiel thought it would just be a quick relay of a message, but Gabriel actually takes a seat next to Sam and starts talking to him.

About  _things_ .

Going through the detailed personalities of both, Castiel can hardly see where they intersect. Even from here, though, Castiel can tell Sam’s smile and his laugh are genuine, that Gabe does as he has always done and manages to put a little cheer on Sam Winchester’s face.

He gets that reaction out of Dean, too, though with much less effort than with Sam.

Maybe Gabriel is just a better friend than he is.

Castiel sighs and sits back on his bed, unknown pain in his chest.

It’s not a new affirmation. Gabriel has always been better with people than Castiel.

It’s just… this is the first time Castiel wishes it wasn’t true.

Days, hours, minutes; Castiel doesn’t know for how long Gabriel talks to Sam. It’s too long, though, and when Gabriel comes back into the room declaring “Mission: Accomplished”, Castiel rolls over on his bed and mutters, “Great.”

“Makin’ tacos for dinner,” Gabriel says then. “You should come down and eat.”

Castiel replies, voice cool and even, “No, thank you.”

He wants his phone. He wants to text Dean and tell him that their brothers are conspiring against them, wants to send him a picture of himself face down on his bed and caption it “Imprisoned”.

He just wants Dean. He wants to be under him again, have his lips on him again. It’s only been a few days, and it’s all Castiel has been able to think about. He wonders if Dean would have had sex with him if he hadn’t fallen asleep.

The thought makes Castiel’s stomach ache and face burn.

He rolls over and sees Gabriel on their computer, scrolling through something that has his undivided attention.

Yeah, that’s too bad.

“Gabe?” he asks.

“What’s up, kid?” Gabriel replies, still not taking his eyes off of the screen.

“How do you have sex,” he poses very plainly, and Gabriel goes still. He looks over at Castiel, eyes tired and heavy, skin all shadowed and gray, and wow, Castiel didn’t realize just how awful he looked until right this second.

“Do you mean, how do I personally have sex?” asks Gabriel. “Or is it a general inquiry?”

“General inquiry,” Castiel sits up. “Mom and dad never let me sit through sex ed.”

“Fuck,” Gabriel rubs his hands over his face. “They didn’t let any of us sit through sex ed., and now look where we are. You’re asking me about it.”

“You know about sex,” Castiel frowns. “Probably more than anyone I know… except Dean, but that would be awkward asking the guy you might want to have sex with explain how sex works.”

“Jesus, just,” Gabriel waves his hand, face contorted as though someone’s just stepped on his big toe. “Stop saying ‘sex’. You make it sound so clinical.”

“It’s a natural function of the human body—”

“It’s fun,” Gabriel corrects him. “Sex is fun. You like someone, and, god willing, they like you enough to let you put your dick in them.”

“That doesn’t sound fun,” Castiel pulls his knees to his chest.

Gabriel rolls his eyes and shuts the computer, turning now to face Castiel. “It is if you do it right,” he runs his fingers through his hair. “What do you want to know?”

Castiel shrugs, “All of it.”

“Come on, give me some direction,” Gabriel rolls his eyes, and starts ticking off on his fingers, “You got your hand jobs, blowjobs, rim jobs, fingering, eating pussy, vaginal penetration, anal penetration, double penetration—”

“Gabriel!” Castiel manages to get him to stop. Unsettling use of the word ‘penetration’ aside, that’s an overwhelming list.

“Fine, I’ll start with the basic shit,” says Gabriel, and proceeds to explain everything Castiel never wanted to know about vaginas. Good information, maybe, and he’s probably all the better for knowing it, but…

“What?”

“That’s not exactly what I meant. And it’s not particularly useful to me at this juncture,” Castiel points out. “What about guys?”

“What about ‘em?” asks Gabriel.

“How do you have sex with them?” Castiel presses, starting to get frustrated. He knows Gabriel likes to be a pain in the ass, but he’s actually trying to learn something here.

“Well, the mistake you’re making is thinking sex is just this one thing,” Gabriel makes some gesture with his hands that Castiel can’t quite decipher. “Sex is whatever you want it to be. If you wanna jerk a guy off and call it sex? Great. If you don’t think it’s sex until a dick goes in an orifice, that’s your business.”

Castiel wrinkles his nose.

“Point is,” Gabriel stands. “Don’t get too hung up on it. You like someone, they like you back, it’s just what ends up happening, you know?”

“I still don’t know how to do it,” Castiel points out, and Gabriel raises an eyebrow. He grabs the computer from his bed and sets it on Castiel’s lap.

“That’s what the internet is for,” he pats Castiel on the shoulder. “And always remember: lube. Lots and lots of lube.”

Castiel cocks his head, and so Gabriel rolls his eyes. “Porn MD,” he says. “Anything you want, you’ll find it there.”

Gabriel leaves him with that parting gift, which puzzles Castiel beyond reason. How would pornography help him with this? Sure, they show people having sex, but Castiel… he can work that part out, more or less.

When he asked how, he actually did mean… how?

How are you supposed to get to that point? No one ever talks about that. In movies it’s all about romance, the long-awaited kiss after a build-up of feelings. And then in porn it’s just right into the sex, hastily tied into a ludicrous storyline.

Two well-muscled dudes sitting on a couch just decide it’s time to have sex? Yeah, sure.

Suck the teacher’s dick so you won’t fail history class? Such an authentic life experience.

Mom caught the babysitter masturbating and just decides to show her what a grown woman can do? Happens every day!

“Porn is about fantasy,” Lucifer explains, now right behind Castiel on the bed. “Though, I gotta tell you, this shit here? Not even close to being the good stuff.”

Castiel slaps the laptop shut.

“How long have you been there?”

“Long enough to know that your straight boy right there has had more dick in his ass than Liberace,” Lucifer lets out a low whistle. “Ooh, Lord have mercy on that poor boy’s ass.”

Castiel pushes up off the bed and sets the computer back on Gabriel’s desk.

“Now, you wanna know how to have sex?” Lucifer asks. He doesn’t wait for Castiel to reply before he cups his hands over his mouth and shouts, “Don’t over-think it, fucktard!”

His figure fades out of view again and Castiel scowls.

Well, it’s about as helpful as anything else he’s heard today.

**oo**

It’s midnight when Sam shows up. He’s in his pajamas, a sleeping bag tucked under his arm and a backpack slung over his shoulder. He gives Castiel a big, relieved smile and steps inside.

“What smells so good?” he asks as he drops his things by the doorway into the kitchen. Gabriel, high as a kite, decided that eleven o’clock was as good a time as any to start making snickerdoodles.

Gabriel hands Sam a plate of cookies that have already cooled, and gives him a wink and a smile.

It makes Castiel’s blood get hot, hundreds of little green-eyed monsters burrowing like weevils under his skin.

“Oh,” Sam hands the cookies to Castiel and roots around in his backpack. “I brought some of my dad’s movies. They’re on VHS, though… Do you guys have a VCR?”

“There’s one hooked up to the TV in the basement,” Castiel nods. “What’d you bring?”

“A bunch of the classics,” Sam explains, like that is even remotely helpful. “Dean said to bring a bunch of ‘em.”

“Really?” Castiel peers into the backpack.

“He said he’s tired of referencing stuff and you not getting it,” Sam reclaims the cookies and stuffs one into his mouth. Gabriel barks a laugh from the other room. “Personally,” Sam continues. “My vote is for  _Revenge of the Nerds_ .”

“I wonder why,” Gabriel comes back, and Sam flips him off.

Castiel rolls his eyes and pulls Sam down to the basement, ready to no longer have to share his friend. They set up sleeping bags from the Novak family supply in front of the TV, an extra, Sam insists, should Gabriel want to come down and join them. Castiel grudgingly allows it and attempts to get the VCR working. The TV itself is practically prehistoric, took Dad and Raph and Gabriel to move downstairs, and the VCR was old even for the VHS era.

“So,” Sam says as Castiel finally gets the damned thing working. “You and Dean.”

Castiel’s cheeks go pink, he can feel it, and clears his throat.

“Yes,” he nods. “That… happened.”

“Is it gonna keep happening?” Sam presses, and Castiel turns to face him.

He doesn’t look angry or upset, just curious in the way Sam always looks. Castiel sighs and sits back on his haunches, regarding Sam with just as pensive a look.

“I want it to,” he replies very truthfully. “Do you mind?”

Sam shrugs, staring down at the plate of cookies in his lap.

“Kinda knew you liked him,” he says. “Kinda figured he liked you back. Didn’t really expect him to do anything about it, though.”

Castiel nods.

“You don’t mind that I’m…”

“Gay?” asks Sam on the end of a laugh, and shakes his head. “No way, it’s the twenty-first century. Who cares?”

“A lot more people than you’d think,” Castiel replies, grimmer than he means it to be.

“Well, I don’t,” Sam replies definitively. “You’re you, and you’re my friend.”

And that’s the end of it.

Castiel scoots back up onto his sleeping bag, stealing a cookie off of Sam’s plate as they sit through the previews that roll on before the movie. Sam’s phone buzzes and out of the corner of his eye, Castiel can see Dean’s name on the screen.

Sam sighs and texts a message back.

“Is everything all right?” Castiel asks.

“Dean’s a pain in the ass,” Sam shakes his head. “What else is new?”

Castiel just looks at him, waiting for Sam to relent and continue.

“He gets like this when dad is home,” Sam mutters, and then launches into, “I don’t get it. He spends all of his time defending the bastard, and then as soon as he’s back he gets all fucking pissed.”

“Where is he?” asks Castiel, picking up the remote to turn down the volume.

“Work,” Sam rolls his eyes. “Dad came home and got mad that Dean wasn’t around. He was getting groceries, left me alone for like, twenty minutes, and the jackass reads Dean the goddamned Riot Act. Dean got pissed, took the car to work, and now dad is passed out on the couch,” Sam shakes his head. “Suffice to say, I’m glad to be out of there.”

“No kidding,” Castiel nods. “Is Dean going to be okay?”

“He’ll come back,” Sam nods. “Try to get back on dad’s good side, convince himself that the fucker’s being a goddamned dick for the right reasons. Hopefully he’ll be gone before Dean’s birthday. I know it’s shitty to say, but. I don’t know, Dean’s just better without dad around.”

"His birthday?" Castiel asks, and Sams face goes stoic.

"Shit," he mutters. “Are you shitting me, out of all that, that’s the only thing you got?”

"When's his birthday?"

"January 24th, but dude," Sam shakes his head. "Just, don't talk to him about it, okay?"

Castiel nods, and Sam warns, "Cas."

"What?"

"He hates his birthday. Just leave it."

Castiel frowns at that. Who hates their own birthday? You get cake and presents and sometimes it's nice to remind yourself that, hey, you're glad to have been born.

Castiel's stomach drops when he remembers the sparse Christmas celebration. Maybe the Winchesters don’t do birthdays either.

"Are you guys Jehovah's witnesses?" asks Castiel

Sam’s eyebrows screw up, “What?”

"You don't seem to celebrate anything," Castiel offers. “I didn’t know if it was a religious thing or not.”

"No, it’s because every time we celebrate anything it gets shat all over," Sam nods. "So we just stopped trying. It's worked so far."

"Huh," Castiel ponders.

"Cas," Sam warns again.

"Quiet, the movie is starting," Castiel shushes him.

"Cas!"

"I'm trying to watch," Castiel says very frankly, and turns the movie up so loud that Gabriel has to come downstairs and tell them to keep it down.

And then he stays, curling up on the sleeping bag beside Castiel and resting his head in his lap. Oh, boy. Gabriel must be having a night. Castiel says nothing as the movie rolls on, just lets Gabriel get whatever comfort he gets out of this.

When he dozes off, Sam looks over and asks, “Is he okay?”

“I don’t think so, no,” Castiel shakes his head, sure to keep his voice low. Sam sighs and shakes his head at that.

“Big brothers are fucking idiots,” he mutters, and stuffs a cookie into his mouth.

**oo**

On Sunday after church, Castiel is sent right back home with Gabriel and Anna, while mom sticks around for the late morning service.

Today’s punishment: polish all the silver in the house before his parents get home. This only makes Castiel think that his parents are just using his punishment as a form of free labor to get done around the house what they’ve wanted done for years.

“It’s exploitation, and it’s just plain wrong,” Castiel grumbles as he grabs the silver polish from under the sink.

There’s a long pause before Gabriel concludes, “So you don’t want anything from Cold Stone is what I’m hearing.”

“Bite me,” Castiel shoots back, and Gabriel laughs.

“Well, at least one part of Dean’s rubbing off on you, huh?”

Castiel flips him off.

It’s nice to have the house to himself for a little while, at least. He knows there’s nothing keeping him from going to see Dean and Sam, except maybe the Impala in the driveway and knowing that his mom and dad will tack on extra punishment if he’s not careful.

The ire bubbling so close to the surface at least makes it easier to take the tarnish out of his mom’s silver. It’s good to feel useful, like he’s doing something that can actually produce results. Add polish to a yucky piece of silver, give it a little effort, and the piece comes out looking shiny and new. It’s amazing how much something so miniscule can make Castiel feel so much better. The polish makes him lightheaded after a while, though, and he has to crack open the kitchen window before he starts hallucinating.

He opens up the curtains just in time to see Dean strolling  up to his front door, and his heart leaps into his throat. Castiel nearly falls over with how fast he scrambles to the door. Dean only barely knocks before he lets him in, trying desperately to play cool only to remember as soon as he opens the door that, whoops, he’s still wearing a pair of garish yellow rubber gloves.

Dean cracks a smile at that.

“Sorry,” Castiel pulls the gloves off his hands. “Polishing silver. Figures, everyone’s out and I’m in fucking Folsom over here… that’s a place, right?”

“You listen to that Johnny Cash record, I guess?” Dean chuckles as Castiel shuts the door behind him. Castiel stows the gloves in his back pocket, and braces his hands on his hips.

Is that—is Dean checking him out?

He… he totally is.

Castiel lets out a shaky laugh and rubs the back of his neck.

“It’s good to see you,” Dean says, smile stretching across his face. God, Castiel just wants to pull him in and kiss him, but he can’t. They’ll get caught for sure.

… wait.

“We’re alone,” Castiel realizes aloud.

“Yeah?” Dean checks over his shoulder. “Well, we better—”

Castiel cuts him off, pulling him in and crushing their lips together. Overzealous, probably, since their noses bash together. He pulls back, cheeks flushing because fuck, he fucked it up, didn’t he? Fuck.

“Hey, c’mere,” Dean chuckles and pulls him back in. Calmer, more practiced, how come Dean’s so much better at initiating kisses than Castiel?

Dean pulls back and laughs, color high on his face. He rubs Castiel’s earlobes between his fingers, breathing in steady and slow.

“Wanted to do that ever since you left the other day,” Dean admits. Castiel’s heart swells, a smile tugging up his lips as he comes forward again. It’s an odd feeling, like he can’t quite get enough breath but he can’t pull away either.

When they do finally part, Castiel breathes in happy puffs against Dean’s neck. Dean doesn’t stop touching him, either. He runs his hands over Castiel’s back, down his sides. Castiel wraps his arms around Dean’s neck and did as Dean did to him before, trailing his lips over the strong column of his neck before picking a nice spot.

He feels a low rumble of a laugh in Dean’s throat.

“You givin’ me a hickey, Cas?”

“Yeah,” Cas murmurs back. “A big one.”

Dean sucks in a breath, “Ho-how long you think it’ll be just us?”

“Dad’s done at noon, but he and mom won’t be back for a while after that,” Castiel pulls away. “I don’t know how long Gabe and Anna will be gone. Why?”

Dean just gives him this look, and in a moment Castiel gets it.

“Basement,” he says, and rather clumsily pulls Dean downstairs with him. He locks the door behind them and instantly is on Dean again. They fall back on the chair by the record player, Dean sprawled on the cushions and Castiel in his lap. Castiel thinks he should be horrified at their position, but he’s not. He thinks he’s supposed to wonder if he smells okay, or if, God, this is actually happening, but he doesn’t. The only mission objective his brain now recognizes is Dean. See Dean, hear Dean, touch Dean, feel Dean.

He’s pulled back out of his thoughts when Dean breathes a laugh against his lips and strokes his fingers through his hair.

“Hey,” he greets.

“Hello,” Castiel smiles back. He tries to shift into a more comfortable position, and Dean lets out a sharp breath against him.

Against his leg, Castiel can definitely feel the beginnings of an erection.

Dean has an erection.

Because of him.

He moves his leg again and Dean’s breath hitches.

“Jesus, Cas,” he laughs. “’the hell’re you doin’ to me?”

“Is it bad?” asks Castiel.

“No, it’s not bad,” Dean presses his hips up into Castiel’s thigh. “Hey, you, uh… you wanna put on some music?”

Castiel looks over at the record player and the crate of records he’s slowly still making his way through. He swallows, and asks, “What should I put on?”

“I don’t know,” Dean answers quickly, “Just pick something.”

Castiel rolls against Dean again as he gets up, just to hear the little hitch in his breath, and sifts through the records.

“What’s good music for this?” he asks.

“Uh,” Dean swallows. “I don’t know, whatever’s closest.”

The record in Castiel’s hand is  _Dark Side of the Moon_ .

Castiel puts it on and comes back to Dean, slotting himself back in between his legs before he settles down into another kiss.

He loves kissing Dean. His lips are addictive, his mouth warm and pliant, his hands eager to learn the planes of Castiel’s body. It doesn’t surprise Castiel. Dean seems like the type of person who would want to know as much as he can about what someone likes.

Dean is good, and kind, and makes these wonderful noises when Castiel moves his leg against him. He just wants to give Dean whatever he wants, wants him to keep smiling, keep gasping, keep him feeling good.

“Hey,” Castiel pulls back, lips tingling from moving against Dean’s stubble. Dean looks dazed, like he doesn’t know where he is, pupils wide and mouth shiny and red. Castiel pecks his lips again before asking, “What do you want for your birthday?”

Anticipating an adverse reaction, Castiel presses his leg back into Dean’s now very blatant erection. Dean lets out something between a moan and a “What?”

“Don’t be upset,” Castiel pets his hand through Dean’s sandy brown hair. “Sam told me.”

“Dude, can we not talk about my birthday or my little brother while you’re fucking grinding on me?”

“Sam, fine,” Castiel concedes, “But no, tell me what you want for your birthday.”

“Nothing,” Dean pants as Castiel’s leg presses into him again. “Fuck my birthday, keep doing that.”

Castiel’s chest swells as he comes down to kiss Dean again.

“Tell me what you want,” Castiel murmurs against his lips, and Dean bucks up against his leg. “Tell me and I’ll keep going.”

He removes his leg from between Dean’s, hovering over him, bearing all his weight on his hands and the arms of the chair.

“Fucking dick,” Dean thrusts into nothing.

“Just tell me, my arms are getting tired,” Castiel grunts.

“Then get back down here,” Dean pushes his hands up Castiel’s shirt. Castiel loses his grip then and thumps back down on top of Dean. Before Dean can get a smartass remark in, Castiel goes back to grinding against him, shifting so his erection gets some friction against Dean’s thigh too.

There it is. That’s it. He moans as Dean thrusts up against him, breath catching as his erection finally gets some attention.

“I’m,” he swallows. “I’m not gonna stop asking what you want.”

“Man, I don’t fuckin’ know,” Dean squeezes his eyes shut. “Just get me burgers and pie.”

“Wow, you’re lame,” Castiel chastises, but it’s as much as he’ll get, he figures.

Dean replies by bucking up, a groan coming tight out of his throat. He ruts against Castiel’s leg a few more times, grabs fistfuls of his shirt in his hands and rests his forehead against his shoulder, breathing hard.

Shit.

Shit, it looks like he’s hurt.

“Dean, are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Dean grunts, finally letting out a series of harsh, shallow breaths.

That does not sound okay.

“Are you sure?”

Dean looks up at him and cocks a brow, and oh.

Oh.

Castiel looks down at the rapidly spreading wet patch on Dean’s pants and he can’t help the grin that spreads across his face.

“Shit,” Dean slumps back in the chair. He catches Castiel’s eye and shifts, “Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” Castiel cocks his head, grin still firmly in place. Dean gets a little crinkle between his eyebrows when he frowns, and Castiel leans down to kiss it.

“Stop it,” Dean whines.

“I can’t help it,” Castiel lets out a giddy laugh. And then he whispers against Dean’s skin, like it’s some kind of secret, “I made you come in your pants.”

Why does that make him feel like he’s ten feet tall?

“Shut up,” Dean squirms where he’s still trapped by Castiel’s legs.

"You really are quite irresistible when you’re annoyed,” Castiel murmurs.

 "Yeah, motherfucker?” Dean lets out a challenging huff, and pulls Castiel forward by his hips. He slips his hands under Castiel’s shirt again, but instead of going up, he settles his fingers on the fly of his jeans.

They look each other in the eye briefly, before Castiel’s head twitches in a nod. Dean wets his lips, pretty pink tongue darting out just long enough for Castiel to want it.

Dean undoes the button and pulls down the zipper. Fire ignites under Castiel’s skin as he realizes, yes, he’s about to be touched.

He dips down and kisses Dean again, their lips molding together like they just fit.

Dean’s hand slips into his underwear and closes around his erection.

Castiel inhales sharply, and now it’s Dean’s turn to break out into a shit-eating grin. He pulls Castiel out of his underwear and swallows hard a few times.

“You’re not circumcised,” Dean finally manages, but it doesn’t sound like a question.

“Nope,” Castiel shakes his head. “Is that okay?”

“s’great,” Dean gazes up at him, lust-drunk and all smiles. He strokes a knuckle up the underside of Castiel’s erection, sending a shudder up his spine and a moan out of his mouth.

“Nice and wet,” Dean drags a finger through the moisture gathering at the tip of Castiel’s cock, teasing another whimper out of him. Dean’s hand knows what to touch, knows how to pull sounds out of Castiel that he didn’t even know he could make.

Castiel rolls his hips into Dean’s grip, sighing and hiccupping with every gorgeous movement Dean makes. He hides his face in Dean’s neck and lets the mind-numbing sensation take over. It’s like jerking off, but a million times better, because he can actually feel and touch and kiss Dean, instead of just pretending.

And no one upstairs means that he doesn’t have to hold back. He can moan and grunt and groan as much as he wants, and nobody can stop him.

Castiel’s toes curl as the familiar pleasurable tension coils in his belly. He can’t get enough air, but that doesn’t matter, because as long as Dean keeps touching him he’ll be okay.

He comes with a sharp cry, thrusting up as Dean pumps his orgasm out of him. Globs of sticky white coat Dean’s hand and land on his shirt, and Castiel thinks that if he had the mental capacity, he’d be embarrassed.

Or, at the very least, apologetic for ruining Dean’s shirt.

A few  moments of blissful silence pass before Dean decides, “You—fuck, you’re sexy as hell, Cas.”

“I am?” Castiel cocks his head, still trying to catch his breath. Dean smiles, and nods through his haze.

“Damn, I could go for a fuckin’ nap now,” he murmurs. He swipes the mess on his hand on the bottom of his shirt and looks down at his pants. “I look like I just escaped Fuck Island.”

Castiel noses at Dean’s jaw, wanting more than anything to melt into him, to stay with him. His muscles twitch under his skin, though if he tried to stand he doesn’t know that he’d be able to.

He takes a breath, trying as best he can to keep quiet.

“Would you like some water?” he finds himself offering, “Or, maybe a change of clothes?”

“Uh, yeah,” Dean rubs a hand through his hair. “That’d be good.”

Cas nods and pushes himself up to his feet. His knees are a little wobbly, and his brain takes a few moments to reconnect with the rest of his limbs, but he tells Dean to hang on before he clambers up the stairs.

He retrieves a fresh set of jeans and a t-shirt from Michael’s old stash in the back of their closet upstairs and fills a glass with water down in the kitchen. When he returns, Dean is naked from the waist down, mopping up the residual come with his drawers.

“Here,” Castiel hands him the pants first, and takes a sip of the water to wet his suddenly dry mouth.

Even when he’s not aroused, the sight of Dean below the belt is quite beautiful.

“Thanks,” Dean grins, and accepts the water from him as soon as he’s secured the pants over his hips.

There’s a long stretch of silence as Dean drains the glass.

“Dean,” Castiel pipes up, and falters when Dean’s eyes meet his. He doesn’t know what to say, thinks he may have just been saying Dean’s name because it feels so good on his tongue.

“Cas,” Dean replies, smiling back. “What’s up, good lookin’?”

Castiel’s smile broadens and he looks down at the floor, unable to hold himself in the moment. Dean sets the water glass on the floor and pops the joints in his back. Castiel must be shifting, or doing something odd, because when Dean looks at him again, realization dawns on his face.

“Shit, you need me to clear off before your family gets back, huh?” he asks.

“Oh,” Castiel rubs at his upper arms. He’s not cold, but it’s something to do. His body won’t keep still. “I suppose so. But—” he stoops to pick up Dean’s clothes off the floor. “I’ll wash these for you.”

Dean watches in silence as Castiel spreads his clothes out on the washing machine. Castiel can feel his eyes on him, but there’s little he can do to pull himself out spraying unholy amounts of stain remover on Dean’s underwear and jeans, and his t-shirt, just for good measure.

Castiel starts the washing machine and leans against it.

Dean is back beside the record player, flipping through the crate.

“Is pie and burgers all you really want for your birthday?” Castiel asks then, and Dean looks over at him. His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat as his tongue once more darts out to wet his dry lips.

“I don’t wanna make a big deal out of it or anything, okay?” Dean clears his throat. “We never make a big deal out of birthdays.”

“I gathered you aren’t all that accustomed to receiving gifts,” Castiel nods. “I am sorry for that.”

“Why’re you sorry?” Dean’s eyebrows knit together.

“Because,” Castiel shrugs back. “Gifts are fun. I like to give them. And I’m sorry that nobody ever made receiving gifts a fun experience for you.”

“Just a giver, eh Cas?” Dean shoots back that pretty boy grin, fingering the amulet he wears around his neck, and Castiel shakes his head.

“I’m getting you a birthday present,” he says. “And you’re going to like it.”

Dean clicks his tongue, “Bossy, bossy, Castiel.”

A shudder runs up Castiel’s spine, because Dean never says his full name, and it pours over him like warm honey.

He’s sharp enough now to gather that Dean doesn’t want to talk about his birthday anymore, and Castiel doesn’t want to push him. He likes the warmth that still lingers behind Dean’s smile; there’s no reason to make the moment go sour.

Castiel sits beside Dean, looking through the records with him. Dean rattles off facts about each, handing one after another to Castiel before he settles on something to listen to next.

He puts on one called  _Breakfast in America_ _(“What in the world is a Supertramp and why does it sound like it’s a giant hobo that’s going to come after me in the night?” “Shut the fuck up, Cas.”)_ and they lie side by side on the basement floor. It’s nice to have Dean’s warmth mingling with his, to have his face available to kiss whenever he has the mind to do so.

“May I ask you something?” Castiel rolls over after a while, peering down at Dean’s zen face.  Castiel awkwardly places a hand on Dean’s chest and gulps, because yes, that is definitely the beat of Dean’s heart there.

“What’s up?” Dean yawns.

“Why did you come over?”

“Because I hadn’t seen you, and I was kinda bummed out,” Dean replies, “Now shut up and listen to your prog rock.”

Castiel smiles and gives Dean a kiss on the lips.

When they pull apart, Dean cracks an eye open, so Castiel explains, “I like doing that.”

Dean grins and runs his fingers through Castiel’s hair.

It’s affirmation enough that he likes it just as much.

**oo**

Dean’s birthday comes the next Friday. Gabriel has a free period at the end of the day and Castiel has a deep desire not to sit through his geography class. So, after lunch, instead of running upstairs to Mr. Larkin’s classroom, Castiel finds Gabriel behind the auditorium.

This is sketchy territory, as far as the social hierarchy goes. This is where Castiel finds the kids that his parents consistently warn him about, and as always, Gabriel is deep in the thick of them.

He doesn’t sit with any of them in particular, just allows himself to be absorbed by them. A girl with long black hair reads tarot cards for her friends, while Apollo, a fellow band member, holds a bulky pair of headphones to his ear, trying to goad his twin sister Artemis into listening to what he’s playing off of his computer.

Castiel can see the appeal—if Castiel didn’t so enjoy his lunches to himself, he might consider associating with them.

Then again, they’re the ones who now look at him as though he’s just crawled out of a sewer. So odd that even the self-proclaimed ‘weird’ kids don’t want much of anything to do with him.

This level of social destitution is experienced by so very few.

And Gabriel looks about as out of place as Castiel does among them. The only difference is that Gabriel is good at tricking people into believing that he’s one of them. A chameleon, of sorts.

“Hey, bro,” Gabriel slips off of the table top and drapes an arm around him. “You know everyone here, right?”

“Not exactly,” says Castiel as the bell rings and everyone starts to gather their things.

“Dang, kid, nice timing,” Gabriel whistles.

“I have an impeccable internal clock, Gabriel, you know that,” Castiel pulls the straps on his backpack tighter.

“Oh, excuse me, I didn’t know you kept time like a fuckin’ German train,” Gabriel grabs his bag off of the lunch table. “All right, kid, let’s get the hell outta dodge.”

Kali says something to Gabriel on their way toward the parking lot. Castiel doesn’t catch it, but he does see Baldur snort behind her, and Gabriel raise two middle fingers at them.

Gabriel shoves his hands in his pockets and huffs.

“Gabriel, is there anything you’d like to talk about?” asks Castiel.

“Not at all,” Gabriel shakes his head.

The ride back home is silent, which Castiel wouldn’t mind if Gabriel didn’t spend all of his waking hours running his mouth and being an affably annoying shit. Gabriel doesn’t even swear when a man in a green Toyota cuts him off, doesn’t make one hint that he has even the shadow of a thought going through his mind.

“Gabriel, you know that I’m just as receptive to listening to your problems as you are to mine,” Castiel says. “I know I’m not the most socially adept person, but I don’t lack empathy. I care very much about you, and if there’s something I can help you with, I’d like to be given the opportunity to do so.”

Gabriel lets out a harsh breath through his nose and grips the steering wheel.

“Thanks,” is all he says.

Castiel thuds his head back against the headrest. On the one hand he wants to sock Gabriel, to kick his ass for not seeing that Castiel is making an honest effort to help him, but on the other, he knows he would say the same thing to him every day if he had to, even if all he got was a teeny tiny “thanks” in response.

At home, Gabriel stations himself in the kitchen. Mom is on the couch, glass of wine in her good hand as she watches a rerun of Dr. Phil.

“Hi, honey,” she hums. “You’re home early, aren’t you?”

“What’s he talking about?” Castiel evades the question, and his mom sighs.

“Out of control teenagers,” she gives him a pointed look.

“Glad to see he’s branching out,” Castiel comes back, though the sarcasm is entirely lost on his mom.

“Upstairs,” she bids. “You’re still being punished.”

Castiel nods and turns to go upstairs. He has to wrap his present for Dean anyway. It’s not much, just a mug with the Dark Side of the Moon album cover on it, but he thinks Dean will like it.

He powers through a couple of homework assignments too, just so he has time this weekend to waste looking at the ceiling and thinking about just why he’s being punished. When the welcoming smell of pecan pie wafts up and fills the entire second floor, Castiel can’t resist. He sets down his pencil and abandons his trigonometry, seeking out the much more pleasurable pursuit now afforded to him.

He stops just short of the kitchen when he sees dad looming over the pie. Over in the living room, Castiel can see that mom has taken to her usual late afternoon nap. Anna’s backpack is on the hook by the door, though, so Dad must have gotten her.

It’s then that Lucifer materializes, hanging back against the wall on the other side of the kitchen. He beckons Castiel over, and mouths, ‘It’s getting good.’

“You like Sam,” Gabriel defends as Castiel plasters himself against the wall with Lucifer.

“Sam isn’t Dean,” dad points out. “Dean is troubled.”

“Aren’t you always saying we have to help troubled people?” Gabriel counters.

“Yes,” dad considers, “When we are spiritually equipped to help. You are not spiritually equipped to help anybody right now, Gabriel.”

“What the hell does that have to do with anything?”

“You cannot help someone if you are already weak,” says Dad.

“I made him a pie for his birthday, I’m not down on one knee proposing marriage to the guy,” Gabriel quips back, and Lucifer snorts.

Dad, however, does not find the humor in this statement.

“Gabriel, that is nothing to joke about,” he says very firmly. “And if you are even thinking of straying down that path, you need to let me know so we can get you some help.”

Castiel’s stomach churns, while Lucifer casts a look back at him.

He hadn’t even considered what would happen if he got caught with Dean. Of course dad would pawn him off on some pray-the-gay-away places. Castiel has never liked the idea of those places, even when his faith was at his strongest.

What kind of God would care one iota about human sexuality?

“This is exactly what I’m talking about, Gabriel,” dad asserts. “You’re not well.” He drops his voice and continues, “You think I don’t know what pot smells like? I lived through the seventies, how naïve do you think I am?”

“I don’t know if that was meant to be rhetorical, but I’m here to tell you that you’re going to want it to be.”

“Don’t be a smartaleck,” Dad warns sharply. “Gabriel, you have a decision to make. Are earthly, material desires worth more to you than your eternal soul?”

A pause, before Gabriel replies, “Probably gonna keep on with the material desires thing.”

“Well, at least now I don’t have to wonder where Castiel and Anna are picking up their bad behavior,” says Dad. “There is a finite amount of time we have on this earth to live well and serve the Lord, Gabriel—much less time than we often think. I don’t want your soul to face the same sentence as Lucifer’s.”

Lucifer bristles at that, but before the conversation can continue on its downward spiral, Gabriel blows by both Castiel and Lucifer in the shadows and out the front door. Castiel wants to run after him, to tell him not to go, because, god, this is exactly how Lucifer ended up not coming home. 

Lucifer, however, grabs a vase off of the table by the door and hurls it as hard as he can at dad’s head. Only, his ghostly form flickers and he doesn’t get as much force behind it as he wants, and the vase ends up breaking at dad’s feet. Lucifer’s form remains through the flicker, just long enough for Castiel to realize that dad can probably see him.

He pokes his head around the corner, which turns out to be a hellacious mistake.

“Castiel!” dad exclaims. “What on earth are you thinking?”

Castiel doesn’t think he is thinking, because before he can even come up with an answer, he darts into the kitchen and grabs the pie from where it cools on a rack by the oven. The tin is hot, burning hot, actually, but adrenaline pumps through his system as he makes a mad dash out the front door and down the street.

He knows his dad could follow him, but he doesn’t care. If anything comes out of this horror show, Dean will get his birthday pie.

He stops halfway across the street to pull his sleeves down over his hands, to at least absorb some of the heat coming off of the tin. He’s pretty sure his fingerprints are burned clean off now, but hey, at least he could have a future as a cat burglar now.

He doesn’t know why he’s trying to make this funny, he is royally fucked when he gets home.

The Impala isn’t in the driveway, but that doesn’t mean Mr. Winchester isn’t there. Castiel balances the pie on his forearm and knocks on the door.

Dean answers.

“Happy birthday,” Castiel offers. “This is very hot, may I put it down?”

“Jesus, Cas,” Dean slips the sleeves of his jacket over his hands and takes the pie from Castiel, booking it into the kitchen to set it down. “What the hell happened to you?” Dean calls.

“Family stuff,” Castiel follows close behind, making a beeline for the sink. He douses his hands in cold water. “My dad’s crazy, Gabriel’s fight or flight mechanism is permanently set to flight… hell of a time to be a Novak.”

“No shit,” Dean whistles. “Lemme see your hands.”

Castiel pulls them out from under the cold water and presents them palm up to Dean.

He sucks in a breath.

“I didn’t need pie that bad,” he mutters and presses the pad of his finger lightly into an angry red patch of skin. Castiel hisses. “Okay, hang tight. I’ll be right back.”

He disappears for a few moments and returns with an imposing black bag. It’s the same Dean was using the night Castiel caught him patching up his arm. He opens it up and pulls out a bottle of lotion and squeezes a dollop into Castiel’s palm.

“Rub ‘em together,” he says, and Castiel does as he’s told. Dean grabs a roll of gauze next and lightly wraps up Castiel’s hands.

“Cas, just promise me you’ll remember one thing,” says Dean as he tapes down the last strip of gauze.

“Anything,” Castiel nods.

Dean puts his hands on Castiel’s face and says, “Priorities.”

“I have priorities,” Castiel pouts. “I left your birthday present on my bed to bring you pie. See? Priorities.”

Dean raises an eyebrow and Castiel does admit, “Okay, my hands really do hurt. Thank you for patching them up, though.”

“Eh, I’m a humanitarian,” Dean shrugs. “s’what I do.”

“How has your birthday been so far?” asks Castiel.

“Ordinarily shitty,” Dean zips the bag back up. “Seventeen’s nothing special, believe me.”

He looks over at the pie on the counter and considers, “Actually, with this it’s probably the best birthday I’ve had in a while.”

“I’m sorry I’m partially mummified for it,” Castiel holds up his hands. “That was surprisingly idiotic of me. It was the only way I was getting out, though. I had to seize the opportunity. And the pie.”

“Always the pie,” Dean nods and pulls him into a hug. It’s oddly tender, and Castiel doesn’t know if he likes it. “How fucked are you when you get back?”

“Enough that I’d rather not discuss it at this moment,” Castiel murmurs, not moving from the nook he’s made himself against Dean. “Enough that I’d like to stay out for as long as possible and get as much out of it as I can before I’m grounded for the rest of my childhood.”

“Wanna make out?” Dean offers.

Castiel nods against Dean’s chest.

**oo**

It’s several slices of pie and a couple of interrupted make out sessions before Castiel drags himself back home. His phone says it’s three in the morning, which shouldn’t be surprising considering just how long it took for that damn pie to cool down all the way.

John is working nearby tonight, not as gone as Sam had wished, but enough.

Castiel thinks those are his headlights he sees down the street when he gets to his front door and pushes inside. Nobody is awake or waiting for him, thankfully. He could do with a full night’s sleep before he faces his punishment.

He pads upstairs and to his room, but before he can open the door he hears voices coming from inside.

“Believe me, I know.”

“I just want it to stop, but I don’t know how.”

“I know how,” comes Lucifer’s thick, calming tone. “There’s always a way out. It’s easy, and then after that there’s no more pain, no more suffering. Everything just stops. And then it could just be you and me.”

Castiel shoves the door open. Lucifer disappears as soon as Castiel lays eyes on him, leaving Gabriel all alone on his bed, reeking of booze and smoke, and God knows what else.

He’s crying.

Castiel sits down beside him and drapes an arm around him.

For the first time in six years, Castiel and Gabriel fall asleep in the same bed.


	10. Rebel Souls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Rebel souls, deserters we've been called,   
> Chose a gun and threw away the sun.  
>  Now these towns, they all know our name.  
>  Six gun sound is our claim to fame.   
> I can hear them say...   
> Bad Company, and I won't deny.  
>  Bad. Bad Company, until the day I die."
> 
> Bad Company - Bad Company

For as smart as Cas is, he’s kind of an idiot.

He’s got good intentions and all that crap, but he burnt up his hands bringing Dean a pie, for fuck’s sake. It was a goddamned delicious pie, and he got to put his hands in Cas’ pants again (to distract him from the pain, naturally), but come on, who does that?

Castiel Novak, apparently.

His phone buzzes with a text message while he’s on his break at Denny’s. Under Gabriel’s number he reads, _‘Hello Dean, how are you?’_

Another text, just underneath that one, _‘It’s Castiel, by the way. Gabriel is asking that I make the distinction.’_

Dean’s lips quirk up in a smile and he texts back, _‘not that you would have had to. im ok, hows county?’_

 _‘Shitty. My bunkmate is surly and keeps watching Chopped even though I think he’s seen every episode_.’

Dean laughs, earning him a strange look from Meg, who smokes her break-time cigarette against the dumpster. It’s chilly out, and they’re the only two outside at this time, but Dean doesn’t mind the nip in the air. Compared to the stifling heat of the kitchen, it’s welcoming.

He texts back a picture of himself, sitting has he is against the brick wall of the building, pulling a face.

“What the fuck are you doing?” asks Meg.

“Mind your own business,” Dean shoots back. He waits, knee bouncing, for Cas’ response. He knows he’s reacting like he’s in fucking junior high, like he and Cas are anything more than a couple of dudes who want each other’s dicks.

A picture comes back, one of Castiel cross-legged on his bed, thoroughly not amused, one hand cuffed to his headboard.

Dean looks up at Meg, just to make sure she’s not staring him down, or that she doesn’t notice just how hard he started to breathe. He takes a moment before he texts back, _‘you do not have handcuffs’_

_‘The fuck he doesn’t. You take one look at him and tell me he’s not exactly the kind of nerd who didn’t try to learn close-up magic when he was twelve.’_

_‘gabe give the phone back to cas’_

_‘So you two can sext? No fucking way.’_

_‘youd deprive me of your brothers voluptuous words? i thought we were tight.’_

_‘Voluptuous… fancy ten-dollar word. Fucking send him erotic messages by carrier pigeon, I don’t care. Don’t do it on my phone.’_

Dean texts him a picture of his middle finger.

_‘Charming. Headed your way in a few. Grab some grub after your shift?’_

Dean looks back up at Meg, who stares plainly and patiently at him, waiting for him to give her some sort of tell. He scowls back at her and replies to Gabe, _‘Sounds good.’_

“Another hiccup in the case of your ever dwindling heterosexuality?” asks Meg as she stomps out her cigarette.

“Fuck you,” Dean comes back. “You’re not even supposed to know about that.”

“And yet here we are,” Meg sighs and stomps out her cigarette under the toe of her high-heeled boots. “Don’t beat yourself up, Dean-o. Pussy, cock… as long as you’re eating, who gives a shit?”

Somehow, that’s not as comforting as Dean thinks she means it to be.

Back inside, Dean works through the rest of his shift as diligently as he can. There’s only so much he can do when the thought of Castiel in handcuffs keeps seeping into his brain.

“Hey, Dean,” Chuck flags him down. “Will you get table ten’s drink orders? I’m kinda swamped.”

“Yeah, no problem,” Dean tucks his dirty rag into the pocket of his apron and heads to table ten. It’s a large group, at the center of which is Kali.

Oh.

Oh, of course.

It’s all of those people Dean sees when Gabriel drags him to parties. Dean bristles as he comes to the edge of their table, and tries not to roll his eyes when Kali recognizes him.

“You’re Gabriel’s friend, aren’t you?” she asks.

“Yeah,” Dean sighs. “Hey, Kali. Baldwin.”

“Bal _dur_ ,” the guy next to her corrects, not amused in the slightest.

“Right,” Dean nods. “Something to drink?”

“You work here?” Kali’s eyebrows go up.

“Yeah,” Dean crosses his arms over his chest. “I try to, at least. Can I get you guys anything to drink?”

Kali has to bite her lips to keep from laughing. The others appear to think this is just as hilarious as she does, though apart from the dopey apron, Dean fails to see the humor in the situation. Dad hunts, never leaves enough money for food, and they’re going to be here for at least a little while, so they may as well have some steady income.

“Kind of selling out a little early, aren’t you?” asks Mercury, eyebrow raised.

Dean scowls. People like Kali and her friends never have to worry about that kind of thing, he supposes. Their parents are all well off, work at KU or in fancy jobs that require a handful of college degrees to hold down. They’re the kinds of kids who got everything they wanted and still managed to turn out weird, coming out some odd mixture of pretentious and painstakingly _unique_.

Suddenly it’s selling out to want to put food in your belly, or put shoes on your kid brother’s feet.

“You guys gonna order anything to drink, or did you come to a Denny’s at a three o’clock on a Sunday specifically for the street cred?”

Thankfully, that shuts them up. Dean grabs their drinks and exercises great self-restraint in not spitting in the bottom of every glass.

“Table ten’s got their drinks,” Dean informs Chuck, “But you’re on your own with them now. Good luck.”

Dean avoids them through the rest of his shift, since they’re apparently those people who order a plate of fries between them and just sit in the booth and _talk_ for hours.

At the end of Dean’s shift, Gabriel waits outside in his car, looking intently at his phone. Dean opens the door and slides in.

“Redtube come out with an app?” he asks.

“I can’t get past this goddamned level of Candy Crush,” Gabriel explains, and defeat sounds from the tinny speakers on his phone. “You’re not helping!” he shouts at the screen and shoves the device back into his pocket.

“So, dear, how was work?” Gabriel asks as they pull away.

“Saw your pals,” Dean sniffs. “Hard-ons, all of ‘em.”

“Pretty much,” Gabriel nods. “They’re all right sometimes.”

“Let’s hope so.”

They end up at a joint that serves burgers the size of a human face.

“So, uh,” Gabriel drums his fingers on the table. “Sorry I kinda crapped out on your birthday.”

Dean looks up. Gabe looks like he’s just come back from a hunt, hair lank, face pale, eyes sunken in and underlined in deep purple and black. It’s a look that comes only with believing the weight of the world rests on your shoulders.

“Hey, don’t sweat it,” Dean shrugs. “Shit happens. Cas brought your pie anyway. It was really good.”

“Call me Betty fuckin’ Crocker,” Gabriel comes back, usual mirth absent.

“It was cool just hangin’ out with Cas anyway,” Dean shrugs, smile creeping up onto his face. Gabriel looks up and raises an eyebrow.

“Ew,” he just says.

“I didn’t say anything!” Dean defends, laughter bubbling out of his chest. “C’mon, dude, we’re just having a little fun.”

Gabriel does not find this reassuring.

“Man, don’t worry about it, okay?” Dean leans back in his chair.

“Holy fuck,” Gabriel rubs his face. “You realize if anyone said that to you about Sam you’d bash their fucking skull in, right?”

The hairs on the back of Dean’s neck stand up. If looks could kill, the whole goddamned diner would be dead, and Dean’s brains would be splattered on the ceiling.

“I’m gonna lay it down for you nice and easy,” Gabriel begins. “Cas may be naïve, he may be a baby-gay trying to hop out of the nest for the first time, but he’s also my brother, and my best friend. If you fuck with him, I will fuck with your face.”

Dean’s eyes must be huge, his head must be shaking because Gabriel finds it necessary to clarify, “I’m not kidding, Dean, I will light you on fire. I will light you on fire and put a fire extinguisher and a pie at equal distances from you and see which one you fucking choose.”

A few moments pass before Dean is able to iterate, “Holy shit.”

“You bet your sweet ass,” Gabriel nods and looks down at the menu. “I want some fuckin’ French toast.”

Dean doesn’t know that he’s ever seen anyone go from homicidal to hungry so fast.

It’s true, though. Dean is pretty sure that Sam has a crush on that Ruby chick from his school, and there’s no doubt in his mind—if she hurt him, Dean would cut off her face and wear it as a mask on Halloween.

But then there’s Cas, who’s naïve and good-intentioned and kind of an idiot, but he’s not that kind of idiot. He’s smart enough to know what’s what as far as he and Dean go. They’re fucking around, they’re friends… it’s a good deal. Castiel’s never so much as breathed the word ‘feelings’.

“Am I,” Dean begins. “Do you want me to stay away from him?”

“I didn’t say that,” Gabriel shakes his head, still peering over the menu. “You two do whatever you want. If you hurt him, I will cut off your dick and feed it to a mongoose.”

Fair enough.

Dean absently drops a hand to his crotch and cups protectively.

Then, when his dad later asks him why he looks so upset, Dean has to shake his head and tell him it’s nothing. What’s he supposed to say? In what world is any of this situation appropriate to share with John Winchester?

“Cas troubles?” Sam asks once Dean is safe behind the door of their room.

“Shut up,” Dean snaps back and flops down on his bed.

Sometimes if you go to sleep in your dream, you can wake up in real life.

Maybe they’re not even back in Kansas right now. Maybe they’re in Miami, or LA, or somewhere far away from handsome guys with psychotic older brothers.

**oo**

Castiel turns up that night around eleven o’clock, when Sam’s already asleep and dad’s long since passed out on the couch, and Cas should be at home, in bed, grounded.

But instead he’s here, standing on Dean’s doorstep with that goofy smile on his face.

“Hello,” he breathes, bundled up against the cool night air.

“Hey,” Dean whispers back. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“My brother informed me that he spoke with you earlier today,” Cas replies. “Is there somewhere we could talk?”

Shit.

Here it is. The ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ line that he drops on every girl he meets. There’s nothing else that this could be. They don’t even have anything to break up, and Cas is going to do it anyway.

“Yeah,” Dean comes back to himself. “You cool with the car?”

“That’s fine,” Castiel nods. Dean grabs the keys off of the door by the table and carefully pads out to the car with Castiel. Rather than sit in the driveway, Dean asks, “Can we drive?”

God forbid he traps Cas in the car.

“That’s fine,” Castiel nods.

The car roars to life, and for a split second terror rips through Dean’s chest. His dad could come out at any moment and tell him to get his ass back into the house, could pull him out of the car and throw him onto the gravelly driveway for being so goddamned disrespectful.

Then it occurs to Dean that he’s the one in the car, and even id his dad did come out to rail on him, he’s got the fucking wheels to get away.

At least for now.

“Got out of your handcuffs okay, I guess,” Dean clears his throat.

“Gabriel let me out before he left,” Castiel says. “He told me what he said to you.”

“He said a lot of things,” Dean points out.

“The threats against your life,” Castiel clarifies. “Some more creative than others.”

“Oh, that,” Dean lets out a sarcastic laugh. “Yeah, that was fucking delightful.”

“I’ve told him not to speak to you about me again,” says Cas. “At least not in the way he was.”

Dean pauses, mind going blank momentarily as the entirety of the road stretches out in front of him.

“It’s none of his business,” Cas continues. “He thinks that just because I’m a virgin I’m going to form an unhealthy emotional attachment to you that you’ll be unable to reciprocate.”

“Ugh,” Dean wrinkles his nose, unsure of whether or not he should be offended at Gabriel’s accusation. “From now on, we refer to that as a Stage Five Clinger, okay?”

“Is that a real thing, or are you quoting something again?”

“Jesus,” Dean rests his forehead against the steering wheel. “It’s a good thing I like you.”

“I’m flattered,” Cas replies. It’s not until Dean looks over at him that he realizes that, yes, Cas is being sarcastic.

“Okay, Captain Sasstastic,” Dean pulls over. They’re a couple blocks away from their street, far enough away that none of their nosy neighbors will bother them. He shuts off the car and turns to Cas. The orange light from the street casts long purple shadows across the planes of Castiel’s face. Dean picks an invisible speck off of his jeans.

“Are you –” Dean clears his throat. He can feel Cas’ eyes on him as he cuts himself off, and lets out a sigh. “Do you want a thing?”

“A thing?” asks Castiel.

“Um, a… _fuck,_ ” he lets out a breath. “A boyfriends thing.”

Castiel cocks his head, eyebrows going way up on his forehead. Dean’s heart pounds in his chest; god, this is not the conversation he wanted to have tonight. What if Cas doesn’t want to be his boyfriend? Worse, what if he does? He likes Castiel, a lot more than he likes most people, but Winchesters don’t stay in one place long enough for girlfriends _or_ boyfriends.

“Dean?”

“Yeah, sorry,” Dean shakes his head. He can’t get enough breath. His stomach twists up in knots, his pits start to sweat. It feels like every thought he’s ever had rushes back into his skull.

“Are you all right?”

“Yeah,” Dean nods quickly, trying to keep his breathing even.

“You don’t look fine,” Castiel notes, and shifts closer to Dean. “You seem tense, actually.”

“Yeah, no shit, Cas,” Dean bites back. “I’m sitting here talking to you about whether or not you wanna be boyfriends and that’s—fuck, that’s a _big thing_ , Cas.”

“Dean, I haven’t said anything,” says Castiel, watching as Dean white-knuckles the steering wheel. “Dean, is there anything I can do?”

He lays a hand on Dean’s shoulder and gives a gentle squeeze. And fuck him, that actually makes him feel a little better. He lets Castiel’s fingers work into his muscles, going over his shoulder and to the back of his neck. Dean sighs and leans back into the touch.

“Does that feel better?” Castiel asks.

Dean nods.

Cas digs his fingers in further, pinpointing every single ache and pain not just in Dean’s neck, but his whole body somehow. It’s an embarrassing rarity to be touched like this, and even rarer that Dean actually wants to curl into someone and wrap himself around them.

Then Castiel’s free hand settles over Dean’s crotch and his eyes shoot open.

“Cas?”

“Hm?”

“What the hell are you doing?” Dean asks, and loses his breath when Cas presses his palm into his dick. He’s soft, but Christ, not for much longer it looks like.

“I’m helping you feel better,” Castiel explains very simply. “You seemed to like when I—oh, that’s right,” he recalls, “I didn’t have to touch you last time, did I?”

Dean winces at him, and the son of a bitch grins like a fucking Cheshire cat. Dean whacks him on the shoulder, and Castiel laughs.

He’s got a really nice laugh.

He’s also got really quick fingers. Dean swallows hard and checks around outside as Castiel quickly undoes his fly and pulls out his cock.

Shit, he’s still soft.

“Did I do it wrong?” asks Castiel, eyes wide and glowing an eerie shade of blue in the streetlamp light.

“No, shit,” Dean brings a hand to his hair, stroking softly. “I’m just… give it a minute.” 

“Would my hand help?” It’s such an earnest question, Dean can’t even let out the _‘duh’_ that’s right at the back of his throat, so he nods.

“Would my mouth?”

“Wait, _what_?”

Castiel locks eyes with him again.

“Would my mouth help you feel better?” he elaborates, as though he’s talking to a drunk toddler.

 _“Are you sure you want to give me a blowjob?”_ is what he means to say, or at least something to that effect. He knows Cas isn’t as naïve as people think; he tries to give him at least a little more credit than that.

But like he said, he’s a virgin. Dean wonders if he knows just what he’s getting into.

But, as Dean is seventeen years old and in the company of a willing party, he instead answers Castiel with an emphatic, “Of fucking course it would.”

“All right, all right, no need to get touchy,” Castiel sticks out his tongue. Dean feels a rush of blood surge to his cock, his toes curling up in his socks as Castiel’s head then dips down.

His body is surprisingly bendy, twisting over the divide in the front seat until his face is so close to Dean’s crotch that, fuck, Dean can feel his breath in hot, damp puffs against him.

He’s not even half hard when Cas takes him into his mouth.

“Shit,” he mutters, grabbing onto the steering wheel for support. Cas’ mouth is liquid heat around him. Jesus fucking Christ, he just wants fucking live in there. And Castiel is calculated in his movements, intentionally experimental with the strokes of his tongue and the bobs of his head.

“Wow,” Cas pulls off after a few minutes. “You got big.”

Dean’s entire face heats up.

Thank god it’s too dark to see.

“Y-you doin’ okay down there?” Dean asks.

“I’m fine,” Cas grins against him. “You taste nice.”

And how is Dean supposed to resist a big dopey smile like that? He bends down and meets Cas for a kiss.

He can taste himself in Castiel’s mouth, just a faint note, barely there, that makes his cock ache.

Castiel pulls away, grinning, and takes Dean in his hand.

And then he lowers his mouth and sucks, lips stretching and tongue lapping through the moisture gathered at the tip. He goes as low as he can, which doesn’t turn out to be very far, and starts bobbing his head.

A preacher’s son is sucking his dick in the front seat of his dad’s Impala.

Now there’s something he thought he’d never be able to say.

Cas is good with his mouth, though, and attentive to every single sound every twitch of Dean’s hips, as though he’s doing this just as much for his own benefit as he is for Dean’s.

Makes sense, he guesses: one can probably never be too practiced at the art of fellatio, and it’s probably a damn handy skill.

Cas pulls off of him, hand still and eyebrows high on his forehead. “What’re you laughing about?”

“I don’t know,” Dean pants out a laugh. His erection is dark and swollen against the contrasting pale of Cas’ hand, wet and shiny with Cas’ spit and his own precome. “You, me… ‘s’kinda awesome.”

Castiel’s lips quirk up.

“Yeah, it is kinda awesome,” he agrees. “Can I keep going?”

“Please,” Dean shifts back and melts into the return of Cas’ mouth to his dick.

For a first timer, he’s pretty decent. And fuck, seeing that messy thatch of dark brown hair going up and down in his lap—Dean lets out a deep groan, one that makes Castiel hum out a laugh around him. He knows he’s done for then.

“Cas,” Dean squeezes out. “ _Fuck,_ heads up.”

Cas obviously doesn’t know what that means.

For a second, Dean thinks that he meant to stay on, to try and swallow everything Dean could pump out. But pleasure builds and builds, and with a smack backward of his head and tension strung high in his legs, it’s over.

And Cas chokes on a mouthful as soon as Dean blows his load.

Cas pulls back, hacking more out of surprise it sounds than actual choking. His hand still grips Dean loosely, and Dean grunts he rides out the rest of his orgasm into Cas’ come-covered hand.

By the time he starts to come down, Dean’s not even sure it happened. He feels boneless, sated and sedated. He could fall asleep right here and he would not have one goddamned issue with it.

The noise of a zipper, the heavy sounds of shifting and breathing and being too turned on to do either right.

Dean cracks open his eyes and sees Cas going to town on himself, hand working over himself so fast you’d think he was part Energizer Bunny.

“Dude, you want any help?” Dean asks, unable to take his eyes of the way Cas palms over the tip of his erection.

“Dean,” Cas just sighs softly, arching into his own touch.

“Let me—”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Castiel squeezes his eyes shut, his whole body going taut as he comes, spare hand flying up to grip the headrest behind him as he bucks against himself. He’s covered now in both Dean’s and his own jizz.

Why does that make Dean’s throat so dry?

“Jesus Christ,” Dean finally utters.

“Not sure he had anything to do with that,” Castiel rotates his jaw.

“Okay?” Dean asks.

“Just on the level with our good friend the boa constrictor now,” Castiel replies. “No need to be alarmed.”

His jaw pops, and whatever it was, it seems to be a relief.

Dean laughs, and they both tuck themselves back into their pants. With nowhere to wipe his hand, Castiel takes off his shoe and his sock and wipes it there.

“What?” Castiel asks when he catches Dean looking at him. “Come in a sock is much less innocuous than it is all over a t-shirt.”

He points to Dean’s t-shirt, the hem of which is soaked.

“Least it’s not messed shorts this time,” Dean sighs and looks at Cas with a smile. Castiel smiles back and leans over to pull him into a kiss.

The taste of Dean packs much more of a punch this time around.

“We can put a pin in the other conversation,” says Cas when they finally pull apart. “I like this. This is fun.”

Relief spreads through Dean lightning quick, and immediately he surges forward for another kiss.

He’s pretty sure that at this moment, Castiel Novak is the greatest person on earth.

**oo**

If Gabriel knows about what Dean and Cas got up to, he doesn’t say a word. In fact, the whole next week Dean doesn’t hear a word from Gabriel. Dean figures that he’d know if something was wrong, because while Gabe has made himself scarce, Cas comes over almost every single night.

Sometimes it’s to make out, or get frisky, but mostly it’s just for the company. If dad’s out, they’ll sit on the couch and watch raunchy cartoons and infomercials until three in the morning.

Or, Dean watches cartoons and infomercials, and Cas naps next to him.

Sometimes his head will loll over onto Dean’s shoulder, and Dean will pretend to be annoyed for nobody’s benefit but his own.

Which is dumb, because he actually doesn’t mind at all.

What he does mind is that Gabriel is without a doubt blatantly ignoring him.

So, instead of letting Cas come to him, Dean heads over to the Novak house five minutes before Castiel usually arrives at his door. He doesn’t knock, just waits the few moments for Cas to open the door.

“Jesus Christ!”

Cas claps his hands over his mouth, eyes wide.

Dean thinks he may have just scared the fear of God out of him.

“Dean, what are you doing here?” Cas demands softly.

“Is Gabe around?” asks Dean, and Cas’ face falls.

“Not exactly what I thought you’d say,” he mutters.

Dean rolls his eyes and dips down to give Castiel a quick kiss, cupping his face in both hands, stroking his thumbs over his cheeks.

“Oh, come on,” comes Gabe’s voice from behind them. He stands at the bottom of the stairs, hair plastered to one side of his face, wincing like he’s only just woken up. “Can we cool it with the affection down here? I’m gonna lose my lunch. Speaking of which,” he heads into the kitchen and pulls open the fridge.

“Where the hell have you been, man?” Dean follows him.

“You live across the street,” says Gabriel, raising an eyebrow. “Not exactly like I disappeared off the face of the earth.”

“You know what I mean, dickweed,” Dean bites back.

“Gabriel, we’re just worried,” Castiel steps in, flat tone of voice now trying to placate both Dean and his brother. “I live with you and I’ve barely seen you. We just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fuckin’ great,” Gabriel shrugs, spreading a glop of peanut butter onto a slice of bread. “Never been better. Bet you feel like jackasses now.”

“You’re not fine, Gabriel,” Cas challenges him very pointedly. “You’re the most not-fine I’ve ever seen you, as a matter of fact.”

“So?”

Gabriel appears to be done with the conversation already. Dean doesn’t even need to look at Cas to know the face he’s making. It’s the one that creeps up every time he talks about Gabriel, practically every time he talks to Gabriel. It’s exactly the face that Dean knows he should be making, because that’s the face you make when someone you care about starts to hurt themselves.

But now Dean also cares about Cas, and knowing that Cas is upset, knowing that Gabriel is putting Cas through unspeakable amounts of sadness, it makes his blood boil.

Dean grabs Gabe by the collar of his t-shirt and yanks him forward, “You listen to me, you fuckwit. I don’t care if you treat me like shit—hell, I’m more than enough of a dick to deserve it—but Cas is your brother. And for someone who threatened me not to hurt him, you’re doing a fucking shitty job of not hurting him yourself.”

Something flashes in Gabriel’s eyes, just a flicker of a second before Cas steps forward and pulls Dean off of him.

“You two are idiots,” Castiel says very pointedly. It’s too late, though. Whatever Castiel does now, it can’t undo what Dean just said.

“Great,” Gabriel nods—more like twitches uncontrollably, actually.  

“Gabe,” Castiel looks like he’s about to reach for him, but he holds back. “Whatever’s going on, just let me help.”

The room goes icy, and suddenly Dean can see the very clear apparition of Lucifer through the fog of his breath. He lays a hand on Gabriel’s shoulder and looks at Castiel.

“If you wanted to help,” Lucifer begins, “You should have noticed that something was wrong a long time ago.”

“You can’t just magically know what’s going on inside someone’s head,” Castiel argues back.

“The fact remains that Gabriel hasn’t been okay,” the words pour out of Lucifer’s mouth and settle on Dean’s skin like oil. “And now that it’s starting to inconvenience you, you want to help.”

“Lucifer, stop it,” Castiel warns, and then steps closer to Gabriel. “Gabe, please don’t listen to him.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Dean sees a cast iron skillet on the stovetop. Careful not to draw any attention to himself, he moves slowly toward it.

“He’s right, though,” Gabriel scowls. “If you cared, if anyone cared, you’d know something wasn’t right. And fine, every family needs a scapegoat, but Jesus Christ. It’s a little tiring being the only source of seven other people’s problems.”

“You’re not, though,” Castiel’s brows pinch together. “You know you’re not.”

“It’s too little too late,” Lucifer shakes his head.

Dean closes his hand around the iron handle and comes forward as silently as possible. Castiel catches his eye, but doesn’t move to stop Dean, or even question him.

“It really is just his luck that the only person in this family who actually cared about him had to die, isn’t it?”

“Gabe, move!” Dean commands, and Castiel offers an assist by pulling Gabriel away from Lucifer.

Dean swings the pan right into Lucifer’s head, wincing at the shift of energy as he disappears. Gabriel and Cas both look at him, eyes bugged out and chests heaving. Dean holds up the pan.

“Iron,” he explains. “Repels ghosts.”

“How in the fuck do you know that,” Gabriel pants.

“Dean Winchester,” Dean sticks out his hand, as though introducing himself for the first time. “I’m a Hunter.”


	11. A Figure Gray and Ghostly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "He moved with some uncertainty, as if he didn't know,  
> Just what he was there for, or where he ought to go.  
> Once he reached for something golden hanging from a tree,  
> And his hand came down empty."
> 
> Tapestry - Carole King

“He hasn’t come back at all.” 

“He shouldn’t just be  _gone_ , though.” 

“Dean, it’s been weeks since I’ve seen him,” Castiel explains, tucking his legs up under himself. “Trust me, I know you know ghosts, but you don’t know Lucifer. You know how Gabriel is a pest?”

“Yeah,” Dean nods, pushing himself up on his elbows.  

“Lucifer is the mother of all pests,” Castiel absently draws a finger over the denim covering Dean’s thigh. “If he could, he’d come back.” 

“It’s been a fucking month, though,” Dean sits up all the way. “Ghosts don’t just go away like that.”

Castiel stares at Dean—not that he means to, he just can’t quite work out what to say. They’re in Dean and Sam’s bedroom, taking advantage of the odd moment of peace and quiet in the Winchester house. John left on another job a few days ago, Sam started playing soccer after school with a couple of friends, and as long as Gabriel’s home, he’ll cover for Cas when he sneaks out.

“Well,” he finally attempts. “How do you get rid of ghosts?” 

Dean leans his elbows on his knees and just looks at Castiel with that damnable pretty-boy face. 

“It’s not so complicated,” he finally says. “Usually you salt and burn the remains.”

Castiel shifts where he sits, tangling himself further in Dean’s plain blue bed sheets. 

“And how do you go about doing that, exactly?” he asks, not sure he wants to know the answer. 

“You, uh,” Dean grabs the back of his neck, refusing to make eye contact. “Usually you gotta dig up the stiff, salt ‘em, douse ‘em in something that’ll burn ‘em up quick, and light ‘em.” 

“You dig up dead bodies,” Castiel manages to keep his voice even, though every part of his logical mind is telling him to pick his legs up and  _run_   _Run RUN._  

“Fuck, I shouldn’t even be talking to you about this,” Dean sighs. “You can’t tell anyone, okay?” 

“Is that what your dad’s doing right now?” asks Castiel. “Digging up someone’s corpse and lighting it on fire?” 

“Nah,” Dean shakes his head. “There’s a werewolf out near Hutchinson. Standard job, he said he should be home tomorrow.”

“A werewolf,” Castiel repeats. 

“Yeah,” Dean nods. “Easy fix, silver bullet right to the forehead.” He mimes shooting a gun, “Problem solved.” 

Castiel crosses his arms over his chest. 

“You understand how insane you sound right now, I’m assuming,” he says. 

“Don’t believe me?” Dean asks. 

Castiel lets a breath out of his nose and looks down at his lap. 

“I’m not sure,” he admits. “Obviously ghosts are real, unless there’s a gas leak in our house and we’re all just collectively hallucinating the same thing.” 

“Now  _that_  would be fuckin’ weird,” Dean nods, and Castiel snorts. They’re close now, the both of them leaning into one another. For a second, Castiel thinks that Dean may take his hand. His fingers twitch where they rest against his knee, his tongue peeks out to wet his lips, and yet they both keep their hands to themselves. 

Castiel feels his blood turn inappropriately warm, and so he sits up and takes half a scoot back.

“Is it possible to have a friendly spirit?” he asks then. “Not that Lucifer isn’t a pest, because he is, but he’s family.”

Dean lets out a sigh and hangs his head, “There’s no such thing, man. Spirits are spirits because they don’t want to move on, and spirits that don’t want to move on usually have unfinished business.”

“What if his unfinished business is looking out for us?” Castiel poses. 

“Man, even if it comes from a good place, it goes sour quick,” Dean shakes his head. “Spirits are dangerous, man. Gotta take care of ‘em before they take care of you.”

“I’m not digging up my brother’s grave and burning his body,” Castiel replies very plainly. 

Silence stretches between them. What happens to a ghost when you get rid of it? Does it kill them all over again? Castiel doesn’t think he could kill Lucifer, even if he was already dead. 

The air around them feels hot and thick, and Castiel knows it’s because there is so much of everything cluttering up the space. Dean appears to be under the impression that his floor is a laundry hamper, and a trash can, and god help them, a garbage disposal. 

There is a paper plate with half a Hot Pocket on it. 

Who  _knows_  how long that thing’s been there. 

Poor Sam’s side of the room looks like it’s been frightened into a corner by a mess tornado. 

And come on, Castiel knows teenage boys aren’t known for smelling great, but the stench in Dean’s and Sam’s room would diminish considerably if he just tidied up once in a while. 

“Cas!” 

Castiel looks up and realizes that, crap, he’s on the floor. He’s shoved all of Dean’s dirty clothes into Sam’s hamper, grabbed a rogue grocery bag off of the floor and has started filling it with trash. 

“Jesus, man, are you okay?” 

“I,” Castiel chokes, realizing only then that he can’t get a in a good breath. He sits back on the floor and wrings one of Dean’s t-shirts in his hands. He needs to keep twisting it until it won’t go anymore, needs to feel every single fiber tense under his grip, needs to put the extra life buzzing in his fingertips and arms into something else before he Juggernauts through a wall. 

“Whoa, Cas,” Dean lowers himself down to the floor from the bed, stroking his fingertips over Cas’ cheeks. 

It feels nice, but also Castiel does not want to be touched. 

But Dean makes this face when Castiel pulls away from him, and Castiel wants to surge forward and press kisses to his face and tell him, no, it’s not him, that he’s wonderful and hilarious and downright  _sexy_ , even if he believes in and hunts ghosts and werewolves. 

It’s a dream, it has to be.

“Cas, come on man,” he hears Dean. “You gotta talk to me.” 

“I think I may be experiencing some slight psychosis,” Castiel states very plainly. 

Dean nods, like he’s heard it all before. 

“Well, I’m no doctor, but generally psychotics don’t think they’re psychotic, so you’ve got that going for you.”

Castiel takes a breath.

He lets it out.

“Okay,” he nods. 

Dean nods back, “Okay.” 

Silence falls again, and then Dean offers, “You wanna catch a few Z’s here before you head back home or somethin’? I’ll let you have my bed.” 

“Could you, um,” Castiel clears his throat. “Would you mind staying?” 

“Oh,” Dean shifts. “Yeah, sure.” 

Castiel climbs up into Dean’s bed, but Dean doesn’t join him. He grabs his Walkman off of his dresser and switches out the CDs, and then sits beside Castiel.

He offers him an ear bud. 

“What is this?” asks Castiel. 

“ _Abbey Road_ ,” Dean hums, sticking the other bud in his ear and lying side by side with Castiel. 

As the music starts playing, Castiel realizes that he has heard this song before. The steady thump of the bass line regulates his thoughts, presses some sort of reset button in the back of Cas’ head and helps his breathing even out. 

In the space between their two bodies, Castiel feels Dean’s fingers entwine with his.

His entire face gets hot. 

He’s had Dean’s erection nearly all the way down his throat, has accidentally come all over Dean’s face more than once, but it’s lying beside one another holding hands that makes his heart stammer. 

That makes no earthly sense, but hey.

Neither does the spirit of his dead brother haunting his house. 

**oo**

Castiel only barely makes it home in time for dinner. If he hops the fence into the backyard, he can sneak back in through the back door. He’s hit immediately by the heart-warming smells of roasted chicken and garlic mashed potatoes.

With mom still on the mend with her arm, Gabriel has all but taken over making meals, and what’s more is that he’s actually enjoying himself. Castiel would never admit to noticing, but he sees the little swell of pride in Gabriel every time someone compliments his cooking, or asks emphatically if there is enough for seconds.

“Hey, Cassie,” Gabriel greets as he enters the kitchen. Beside him, Anna mashes up a pot of potatoes, bright red hair up in a ponytail, sleeves rolled all the way up to her shoulders.

Gabriel’s looking a little better these days, the dark circles under his eyes have practically faded to nothing, and the color has finally started to return to his cheeks.

Today, he actually put on pants that zip and button shut.

“Can I help with anything?” asks Castiel.

“You can set the table,” says Gabe. “Rosie the Riveter over here’s already got the potatoes covered.”

“I’m an independent woman,” Anna nods, grunting as she throws her entire body into mashing.

“Indeed you are,” Gabriel raises a fist in solidarity. “Mash those potatoes like the hearts of the men you will one day dominate.”

Castiel actually smacks his hand to his forehead.

“Like how Castiel dominates men?” asks Anna.

Castiel’s heart seizes, and he rounds on Gabriel, whose eyes go wide.

“I what?”

“In my defense,” he says, “I asked her not to repeat that.”

“You,” Castiel’s brows furrow. “You outed me.”

“I—did,” Gabriel nods. “Kinda, yeah. I’m sorry.”

“What the hell!” Castiel comes forward, voice dropped low to a whisper. “You don’t just _do_ that, Gabriel.”

“Well, you weren’t going to say anything!” Gabriel argues back. “And for fuck’s sake, it’s not like she doesn’t notice when you sneak out. I had to say something.”

“And so you told her I _dominate_ men?” Castiel’s voice cracks.

“Okay, maybe that was an embellishment—”

“Is Dean Winchester your boyfriend?” Anna asks then.

The blood rushes in Castiel’s ears. His vision goes gray around the edges ad he leans against the dinner table.

Why.

Just… _why_.

“No, Anna,” he shakes his head. “Dean isn’t my boyfriend.”

“Oh,” she frowns. “So he’s your fuck-buddy?”

Castiel socks Gabriel in the shoulder, while Gabriel just laughs.

“What is _wrong_ with you?” Castiel hits him again.

“Too much,” Gabriel replies, holding a stitch in his side. “Oh, way too much. That was good, Anna.”

“Thank you,” she preens.

And then they both turn expectant looks on Castiel, who has no choice but to turn beet red and mutter, “Yes. Yes, that is what Dean is.”

He refuses to say anything more on the subject, and instead sets the table under a vow of silence. Which proves to be fine, since Gabriel and Anna are perfectly content to break out in song as they finish preparing dinner.

Castiel is pretty sure that they are singing _Party in the USA_ , which he only knows because Anna listens to it repeatedly at every opportunity.

“C’mon, Cas,” Gabriel nudges him.

“I absolutely will not _come on_ ,” Castiel shakes his head. It’s just as well, as dinner is now ready and mom and dad have come into the kitchen.

“Gabriel, this is lovely,” says mom as she takes a shaky seat at the end of the table.

“You’re getting very adept at cooking actual food, aren’t you?” Dad sits down at the head.

“Actual food,” Gabriel nods and sets the chicken down and sits. Anna brings over the potatoes, now in a bowl, and sits beside Gabriel.

They look like a semi well-adjusted family, enough that Castiel almost forgets that he just snuck in from spending the afternoon with his fuck-buddy/not-boyfriend, who woke him from his nap with a tantalizingly slow hand job and a lot of dirty words.

Castiel clears his throat and stuffs his face full of potatoes so he won’t accidentally mention that in return, not five minutes before he walked into the kitchen, he sucked Dean off and finally managed to get all of Dean’s come into his mouth.

_Inappropriate thoughts for the dinner table, Castiel._

And yet there it is, Dean sprawled out in his sheets, hard, shiny red cock resting sated and well-loved against his stomach. And then Dean red-faced and downright giggly when Castiel had run his teeth over the fleshy swell of his tummy.

“Castiel?” his dad’s voice shakes him out of the memory. “Care to share what’s so funny?”

It’s not as accusatory as Castiel wants to believe it is, just his dad asking him about the undoubtedly goofy smile making his face so lopsided.

“Nothing,” he fibs. “I just felt like smiling. This is really good, Gabriel.”

Gabriel looks up at him, eyebrow cocked, but thanks him all the same.

Castiel takes a few more bites before excusing himself and tromping back upstairs.

He throws himself down onto his bed and takes a deep breath. This bed does not smell like Dean, and at this moment in time that is absolutely unacceptable.

Castiel rolls over and looks over at the computer on Gabriel’s desk. He knows he shouldn’t, but he could do with a little internet fix, even if it’s just finally resuming his Words with Friends game with Sam.

He had really good letters last time he checked.

Castiel stands and grabs the computer, but quickly loses interest when a tri-fold pamphlet flies out from under it. He stoops to pick it up and actually sets the computer down so that he can read it.

It’s information on a pastry school.

In New York.

Gabriel comes upstairs not long after and shuts the door behind him, and like a child, Castiel takes to hiding the pamphlet behind his back.  

“What the hell did you get up to with Dean, buckaroo?” Gabriel whistles and sits down on the edge of Castiel’s bed, elbows resting against his knees. “You go D in A?”

“Shut up, Gabriel,” Castiel rolls his eyes.

“My god, he deflowered you, didn’t he?”

“No, Gabe,” Castiel pushes himself up from his place on the bed and runs his fingers through his hair. Gabriel gives him a strange look then and raises his eyebrows.

“Whatcha got there?” he asks.

“It appears to be a brochure for pastry school,” Castiel replies truthfully and reveals it so that he can flip through its contents once more. “It was under the computer.”

“That’s nothing,” Gabriel shoots to his feet, grabbing for but not succeeding in snatching the pamphlet away.

“It’s not nothing,” Castiel elbows him away. “Are you going to pastry school?”

“No, I’m gonna go to the fuckin’ big house for fratricide if you don’t knock this shit off,” Gabriel makes another grab, and fails once again.

“I don’t understand, Gabriel,” Castiel finally relinquishes the sheet and allows Gabriel to shove him into the desk. “If you want to go to pastry school, that’s nothing to be ashamed of. You’re obviously very passionate about it, and if you’re passionate about something you should pursue it.”

“Fuck off, I’m not passionate about anything,” Gabriel scowls, folding the brochure in half. “Cooking is stupid and cakes are… y’know, dumb.”

“No they’re not,” Castiel frowns. “If they make you happy—”

Castiel swallows, because oh dear, this is verging on serious. He may not be good at people, but he knows enough about his brother to know that he’s doing everything to avoid this conversation.

“If they make you happy,” Castiel continues, much to Gabriel’s dismay, “then they’re not dumb or stupid.”

“They may not be,” Gabriel stares at a spot on the carpet. “But thinking that I can get out of this shithole and actually make something good come out of my life… so, y’know, just my hopes and dreams and everything I want are stupid. Not that I’ve got the perseverance to go through with it. I’m kind of a lazy shithead, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“Gabe,” Castiel’s shoulders sag. His chest hurts to hear his brother say such things about himself. Because underneath all the sarcasm and the deflection, the bitter humor and the liquor, there’s a good person. There’s a fighter in there somewhere, Castiel has seen it. The same stuff that’s in Michael, the soldier, that was in Lucifer, the rebellious left-wing borderline anarchist, that’s in Raphael, who has fought his way tooth and nail to be at the top of his class at every educational institution he’s attended, all of that is in Gabriel, is in Castiel, is in Anna.

Because above everything else, the Novaks do not go down without a fight.

“What,” Gabriel mumbles.

“I think you should do it,” Castiel says.

“What’s the point?” Gabriel rolls his eyes. “I get rejected, I’m bummed out; I get accepted, I probably can’t go.”

“If it’s pointless, then why not do it?” Castiel shrugs. “At this juncture, I’m willing to bet that you think everything is pointless, so why not do something pointless that could actually benefit you?”

Gabriel wrinkles his nose and looks back at the pamphlet.

So, Castiel figures he’ll try a different approach, “If I got a whole dick in my mouth and down my throat this afternoon, you can turn in an application to pastry school.”

“Aw, come on, man,” Gabriel sticks out his tongue. “TMI, times a billion.”

They drop it afterward, but as Castiel opens up his math book, he notices out of the corner of his eye that Gabriel peruses a webpage that looks an awful lot like the pastry school’s website. 

**oo**

“Two-hundred and fifty dollars.”

“Well, no one said I was cheap,” Castiel replies without looking up from his book.

“That’s what I’ve gotta send into this goddamned school with my application,” Gabriel slaps his backpack down onto the cafeteria table and plops down gracelessly. “I’m a fuckin’ child, where am I going to get that kind of money?”

Castiel almost chokes on his orange juice.

“They want _how_ much?” he balks.

“I’m surprised I don’t need to send in both my testicles for processing at this point,” Gabriel rubs his face. “I just wanna bake some cakes, what, now I have to learn how to commit credit fraud too?”

“Well,” Castiel frowns. “How much do you have?”

“Including birthday and Christmas money?” Gabriel leans his chin on his hand, going over the numbers in his head. “Oh yeah, a big fat fuckin’ zero. I don’t save every penny I get in a goddamned shoebox, okay? I buy weed, like a normal person.”

“There isn’t a drug test that you have to submit, is there?” asks Castiel very seriously, and Gabriel has the nerve to pretend to be insulted.

Castiel only has to raise one weary eyebrow before Gabriel backs down and admits, “No, I checked.”

“I could loan you some money,” Castiel suggests. He doesn’t have a lot, but he has more than nothing and a willingness to help.

“No, that’s yours,” Gabriel shakes his head. “I gotta get a fuckin’ job or something. Maybe sell myself to lonely older women.”

“You’re seventeen,” Castiel reminds him gently.

“Still got a few good years left,” Gabriel sighs and smacks his head against his bag. “Is this when we’re supposed to pray?”

“I don’t think you’re supposed to pray to god for monetary needs,” Castiel poses thoughtfully. “I assumed if you were going to pray for yourself, you were supposed to pray for your spiritual needs.”

“Well, that’s a load of shit,” Gabriel comments without looking up.  

“I’m going to have to agree in this case,” Castiel shuts his book and folds his arms over the top of the table. “What are you willing to do for money, is the real question.”

“Don’t ask a desperate man a question you can’t handle the answer to,” Gabriel remarks. He looks up, though, and pulls a stray scrap of notebook paper from his forehead. “I don’t know… I’m not really good at anything.”

“I don’t think teenagers are supposed to be good at anything,” Castiel frowns. “I think we’re just supposed to be so desperate for money that we’ll do anything, and then whatever experience we get is supposed to make us valuable from then on.”

Gabriel raises an eyebrow, “What the fuck was that?”

“I’ve been reading a lot of teen achievement blogs in my homeroom,” Castiel shrugs back.

“There’s no way that’s a blog genre, you’re making that up,” Gabriel rubs his face with his hands.

“The point is that you’d be able to work eighteen hours a week, at most, more realistically probably somewhere around nine. At minimum wage, that would be,” Castiel grabs a piece of scratch paper, working it out as Gabriel perks up from his hidey-hole of defeat. “Okay, that’s a little over sixty-five dollars a week, in a month you would have your application money.”

“Holy shit, Rain Man,” Gabriel whistles.

“It’s just simple arithmetic,” Castiel cocks his head.

“Yeah, well, unless you wanna know how many tablespoons are in a cup, my _arithmetic_ is pretty goddamned useless,” Gabriel perches his chin in his palm. “Magic up how long it’d take to make that kinda scratch if I had a bake sale or something.”

“A bake sale?” Castiel raises his eyebrows. “Like the bake sales they have at church?”

“Everybody fuckin’ loves the shit I bake for those things,” says Gabriel.

“Yeah, but outside of church, who buys things at bake sales?” Castiel shakes his head.

“Your boyfriend seems to like my pies,” Gabriel shrugs. “Think he’d pay for a face full of my sweet, supple cream pie?”

Castiel isn’t sure what Gabriel is referencing, only knows that it’s something disgusting.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” is what ends up coming out of Castiel’s mouth.

“Why not?” asks Gabriel. “You like him enough, and the fucker’s all moony-eyed over you.”

“Because, it’s not like that,” Castiel looks back down at his book.

“Don’t you want it to be, though?” Gabriel crosses his arms over his backpack. “Cas, I know you, all right? You’re kinda rushing headlong into this whole fuck-buddy thing. Like, zero to sixty. I worry about you, kid.”

“You don’t have to worry about me,” Castiel insists. “I’m of sound mind. I know what I’m doing.”

“Trust me, Cas, you have no fucking idea,” Gabriel shakes his head. “You’ve never done anything with anyone before, and Dean isn’t exactly the pinnacle of fidelity.”

“I don’t expect him to be,” Castiel shifts in his seat, eyes glued to the table in front of them. “That’s the thing about dissatisfaction, it only becomes an issue when expectation exceeds reality. If I don’t expect anything, then I very severely decrease my chances of being unsatisfied.”

“That’s not what I fucking asked, is it?” Gabriel challenges, sitting as forward as he can go now. “You want Dean to be your boyfriend?”

Castiel makes a fist, fingernails digging into his palm in the hopes that this will at least keep him anchored to the real world.

“Holy fuck, you do. You want that Zoolander bastard to be your fucking boyfriend.”

“Who?” Castiel asks.

“Never mind,” Gabriel brushes it off. “Cas, you’ve gotta tell him.”

“I don’t think I do,” Castiel shakes his head. “Dean isn’t that kind of person, and why should I ruin a really, _really_ fun thing just because I want to—” he gulps hard.

“Don’t be such a chicken shit,” Gabriel rolls his eyes. “Nut up and tell him how you feel.”

“I don’t want to!” Castiel exclaims, “I don’t want to, okay? Bringing feelings into it only complicates everything. I’ve seen the aftermath of telling an emotionally unavailable person how much you care for them, and I’d rather not spend the next year and a half of my life being on-again-off-again, drinking myself to death because I can’t deal with my bullcrap problems any other way, when I could just take it for what it is and spare myself the heartache entirely.”

Castiel huffs softly as his rant comes to an end, and very belatedly he realizes that, crap, perhaps that was a little too much.

“Gabriel,” he says.

“Nope,” Gabriel stands and swings his bag over his shoulder. “I get it. You don’t wanna turn out like the fuck-up, I get it. Believe me, I wish I could opt out, but I checked the wrong box on our family dynamic forms. I’ll leave you to your very important studies.”

“Gabe—”

He’s gone, though, and Castiel is left with nothing but a pit in his stomach and a knot in his throat.

So much for speaking honestly.

**oo**

Dean has to pick Castiel up from school, as Gabriel is nowhere to be found after last period ends.

“I think I pissed him off,” says Castiel as he buckles himself into the Impala.

“That’s entirely unsurprising,” Dean stifles a yawn against the back of his hand. He just woke up, Castiel can tell, and barely even got himself into a pair of pants, it looks like.

Castiel’s chest swells with affection at Dean’s sleepily lidded eyes, at his messy hair and pillow-marked face.

He leans over and pecks a kiss to Dean’s cheek.

“Hey, come on, that’s some weak-ass shit,” Dean chides, and just when Castiel thinks he’s about to be told off for being affectionate, Dean loops his arm around Castiel’s shoulders and pulls him into a full-on mouth-to-mouth kiss.

It’s enough of a spectacle that a few passersby pause to gape at the open display of affection, and Castiel blushes as they pull back and start down the street.

“Wanna come over?” asks Dean as they pull onto their street. “Could help you take your mind off everything.”

“Your dad’s home,” Castiel shakes his head, running his fingers over the interior of the door. “And don’t even think about my house. My sister’s got a friend over, they’re working on a project or something.”

“Balls,” Dean sighs, parking back in his driveway. “What about tonight?”

“Maybe,” Castiel nods. “I should make sure Gabriel’s okay first.”

“For sure,” Dean nods back.

They don’t kiss here. There’s no telling who could be watching them, and the last thing they need is this getting back to their folks. This thing between them is just that—between them. Castiel doesn’t want anybody touching it, because for once he has something that’s entirely his.

“I’ll, um,” Dean clears his throat, speaking to Castiel over the car. “I’ll see you later?”

Castiel nods, and with that darts back across the street, back home. Gabriel’s car isn’t out front, which means he’s probably off doing something unforgivably self-destructive. He has neither the time nor the energy to go out looking for him, especially if he doesn’t want to be found.

“Hello?” Castiel calls through the house. “Anna? Mom?”

Anna pokes her head out of the kitchen.

“Hello,” she says back.

“Where’s your friend, I thought you were working on a project,” says Castiel.

“She went home,” Anna shrugs. “It’s okay, I can do it on my own.”

“Where’s mom?”

“Dad took her to get her cast off,” Anna, again, shrugs.

“You’re very nonchalant for having been left here all alone,” Castiel notes.

Anna nods and clutches a pack of cookies close to her chest as she runs upstairs.

“Hey, you know you can’t take all of those,” Castiel calls after her, and follows her up to her room. He stops cold as soon as he reaches for the doorknob.

Anna’s a kid, on her own in the house for the first time. Castiel remembers what that’s like—he accidentally ate half a carton of ice cream in one sitting the first time he’d been left all alone.

He turns and decides to let his sister be.

This way, Castiel can bring out his guitar and work on some of those songs out of the book Dean gave him. There are a lot of fun songs in here, and some that are just plain aggravating, but there’s one that’s been dog-eared and opened to so many times that Castiel started playing it by default.

 _Hey Jude_.

It’s another song that Castiel’s heard before, one that’s definitely meant for the piano, but he’s crap at the piano and it’s extra satisfying to be able to work it out on the guitar anyway.

Mary’s handwriting still marks up the page, pencil notations marking where to pause, numbering off measures, indicating where she added her own flair to the song.

His singing voice isn’t great, but he’s been told that’s part of his charm.

A crash comes from Anna’s room, and he’s on his feet and out the door. He doesn’t even bother knocking before he swings Anna’s door wide open. She sits on her bed, the mirror over her dresser having just come right off the wall and shattered all over her carpet.

“Anna, stay where you are,” he instructs.

“You can’t be in here!” she exclaims, face red, tears staining her cheeks. “Go away!”

“Anna, it’s fine, I’ll get something to clean this up—”

Out of the shards of glass in the carpet rises a fine mist, and the room goes cold.

No.

No flipping way.

Materializing atop Anna’s dresser, appearing smug as ever, is Lucifer. He catches a glimpse of Castiel and folds his arms across his chest.

“Come now, Castiel,” he tuts. “Close your mouth before you start catching flies.”

Castiel’s mouth shuts with a click.

_Well, shit._


	12. Break Your Heart So Suddenly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "From the earth below to the heavens above  
> That's how far and funny is love  
> At any time, anywhere  
> If you gotta make love do it everywhere  
> That's what love is, that's what love is"
> 
> Funny How Love Is - Queen

Dean knows that Lucifer isn’t gone. He can’t be, that’s not how ghosts work. Supernatural shit follows patterns, abides by certain rules, and clocking a spirit with a frying pan doesn’t exactly place him in the pantheon of Ghostbusting Heroes.

But even if he didn’t know all of that, he’d know that something was up when Gabriel shows up at his door at eleven o’clock in the morning on a Wednesday, bags under his eyes as big as the bag of pot he pulls out of his jacket. Dean lets out a low whistle as he shuts the front door behind him and crosses his arms over his chest.

“Big plans?” he asks.

“Anyone else here?” Gabriel asks. Slung over his arm is also a canvas bag from some bookstore that has Castiel written all over it.

“Just little ol’ me,” Dean shrugs. “I can’t smoke, though, I gotta work tonight.”

“This isn’t to smoke,” Gabriel explains and marches right into the kitchen.  He pulls from the bag a brick of butter and a few other supplies, and then roots around in Dean’s cabinets.

“What the hell are you doing?” asks Dean.

“Pot butter,” Gabriel explains. “For brownies.”

“And you can’t do this at home because…”

“My mom’s there, genius,” Gabriel pulls out the pan that Dean uses for mac and cheese and sets it on the burner.

“Why are you even making pot brownies to begin with?” Dean crosses to the kitchen counter and peers inside the bag. There’s chocolate and flour and sugar, no Betty Crocker box in sight.

“Well,” Gabriel sniffs, “In a feeble attempt to get my life together, I decided to let Castiel convince me to apply to pastry school.”

“That’s awesome,” Dean declares.

“Yeah, the application fee is not,” Gabriel continues. “So, I’m gonna have a bake sale. And since bake sales aren’t lucrative unless you’re a fuckin’ crusty old church lady, I decided to use up my one moment of ingenuity per decade and sell pot brownies to the local clientele.”

“A modern day Willy Wonka,” Dean nods in understanding.

“He made candy, this is baking,” Gabriel corrects. “But that’s okay, you’re young.”

“You’re not even a year older than me,” Dean points out, but Gabriel waves him off and that’s the end of that.

“You need anything?” Dean asks. “A hand… a beer?”

“Beer me,” Gabriel sticks out a hand, not looking up from the pan on the stove. Dean grabs one for himself and one for Gabe. Normally dad doesn’t have booze around long enough to leave it before he works a job, but this time it couldn’t wait.

These days, it seems like none of the jobs can wait.

“Pops popped off, eh?” Gabriel turns finally to Dean, letting the butter melt in the pan.

“Yeah,” Dean tips back a mouthful of icy, tinny beer.

“Sucks?” Gabriel asks. Dean doesn’t blame him—usually he’s a mixed bag of reactions when it comes to dad working. Yeah, he said that he was going to cut back for a little while, but it’s a job that needs doing, and when someone needs your help you don’t just sweep it under the rug.

“Not sure,” Dean replies.

“Sucks,” Gabe confirms and cracks the top of his beer. They drink in silence for a few minutes. Silent or no, Dean is glad for the company. Happy though he is to be out of high school and working, it gets a little lonely around here during the day.

Especially when he has nowhere else to go, really.

Gabriel breaks the silence, “You got a mesh strainer?”

“A what?”

Gabriel sighs and hangs his head.

Apparently he can improvise, though, taking from a drawer a dish rag that Dean has to reassure him ten times over is clean.

“How long’s that take?” asks Dean.

“Probably got about an hour,” Gabriel shrugs. “Give or take.”

Dean nods again and rests the edge of the can on his lips. It’s not like Gabriel to be this quiet. Again, Dean doesn’t mind the silence, but the fact that it’s being perpetuated by Gabriel is cause for some concern.

“Are you okay, man?” he finally asks. The question stops Gabriel in his tracks, and he looks up.

“Why, do I look like shit?”

“Kinda, yeah,” Dean runs his free hand through his hair. “You know you can talk to me, right? I’m all ears.”

“Nothing to talk about,” Gabriel shrugs. “I’m fine.”

“Man,” Dean sets down his beer. “I don’t know a lot about being fine, but I know enough to know that whatever the hell you’ve got going on here? Not fine.”

“What do you mean,” Gabriel returns, the straight delivery only indicative of how very aware Gabe is that there is something wrong.

“Will you leave the bullshit worrying to my brother?” he grumbles.

“No,” Dean returns too quickly. “And it’s not bullshit. He’s really worried about you. And so am I.”

Gabriel doesn’t snap back, just chugs the rest of his beer and keeps to himself.

“Shit, man,” Dean lets out a laugh. “Ground control to Gabriel.”

“What?” Gabriel bites. “What do you want me to say?”

“Anything,” Dean shrugs. “Man, I’m not usually a big fan of touchy feely story time or any of that Mr. Rodgers bullcrap, but you’ve gotta let somethin’ out.” 

“What’s the fucking point?” Gabriel asks. “It won’t help. Nothing helps. And the more I think about it or talk about it, the more pointless I realize it all is. So if you don’t mind, I’d really like to just sit here and make my cannabudder in peace.”

Dean swallows. The silence that follows stiffens the space between them, the moment shifting to something fragile.

“Shit,” Gabriel sighs. “Not pointless. I didn’t mean pointless. I’m just… I gotta get out of here, man. I can’t take these people, or this town, or this fucking life. I can’t anymore, it’s driving me up the fuckin’ wall.”

Dean frowns. Sure, life on the road with his dad sucks about ninety-nine percent of the time, but for all the shitty things he’s done, Dean’s never really thought about getting out.

Dean swallows. The silence that follows stiffens the space between them, the moment shifting to something fragile.

“Shit,” Gabriel sighs. “Not pointless. I didn’t mean pointless. I’m just… I gotta get out of here, man. I can’t take these people, or this town, or this fucking life. I can’t anymore, it’s driving me up the fuckin’ wall.”

Dean frowns. Sure, life on the road with his dad sucks about ninety-nine percent of the time, but for all the shitty things he’s done, Dean’s never really thought about getting out.

Or, if he has, he knows he wouldn’t.

“Man, what about Cas?” Dean crosses his arms over his chest.

“Little fucker’s come a long way,” Gabriel shrugs. “Kid can look after himself.”

“Okay,” the hairs on the back of Dean’s neck bristle, “What about Anna?”

That one cuts a little deeper, leaving Gabriel staring off into the middle distance for a good few seconds before he comes back softly, “She won’t have me around long either way, better not scar her for life while I’m at it.”

Dean’s heart weighs heavy at the confession, and for a while he doesn’t know what to do. What is there to do, to say?

“You… you wouldn’t really,” Dean clears his throat, “to yourself, would you?”

Gabriel shrugs, looking down at the cracked linoleum floor.

“At some point something’s gotta give, Dean,” he finally says. “Let’s hope pastry school is it.”

Nauseated.

The word Dean is looking for is nauseated.

**oo**

Gabriel’s shit weighs heavy on Dean, which, to be honest, he had not expected. Normally, people are having

problems, Dean can let it go. It’s their problem to deal with, not his.

This is a different beast entirely.

He grapples with it for a couple of days. As long as he touches base with Gabriel and gets a response, he figures he still has time to work out what the hell to do.

That fucking dick ghost can wait—he’s already dead.

Dean sends a text to Castiel that simply reads, _‘home @ 11, need 2 talk’_.

Sure enough, he finds Cas waiting for him when he gets home. He’s on the couch with Sammy, both of them with their feet kicked up and looking half asleep.  

“Hey,” Dean greets.

“Hi,” Castiel allows himself to smile back. He was so serious when they first met only a few months ago, and now he’s all smiles every time Dean sees him.

Dean wonders if it’s because he just get smiley around him.

That thought makes him very hot under his shirt.

“What are you two up to?” he leans on the arm of the couch.

“Cas had never seen _Time Bandits_ , so,” Sam yawns. “We watched _Time Bandits_.”

“Honestly, I’m not sure what exactly happened in that movie,” Castiel frowns at the TV. “I just know that I feel betrayed.”

“Fuck you, _Time Bandits_ is awesome,” Dean nudges him.

“I’m not disputing that,” Castiel catches Sam’s yawn and then looks up at Dean. “You said you needed to talk?”

Sam heaves a sigh from beside Castiel and stands upright.

“Fine, I’ll go to bed,” he mutters and trudges up the stairs. He shouts after himself, “Don’t get anything on the couch!”

“Fuck off, bitch!”

“Make me, jerk!”

“Dean,” Castiel groans from his place on the couch. Dean looks down at him and slides down, wedging his way between Castiel and the arm of the sofa, Cas whining the whole way through.

Dean loops his arm around Castiel’s shoulders and captures Cas’ lips between his. If they’re not careful they’ll end up making out on the couch before Dean can even get a word out.

He pulls back and strokes a hand over Castiel’s jaw. It’s a little rough, but Dean would be lying if he said he didn’t kind of like it.

“What’s wrong?” asks Castiel then, dark brows crunching over his eyes, saturated with confusion.

“You, uh,” Dean shifts so they’re not pressed so close together. “You seen Gabe lately?”

“Yeah, he’s home watching Top Chef,” Cas cocks his head. “Why?”

“Does he seem weird to you?” Dean asks. “Like, more than usual?”

“Well, more than _usual_ , I’d have to say no,” Cas considers. “He has developed a sort of melancholy, though, hasn’t he.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Dean huffs a laugh. “Do your parents ever say anything about it?”

“Unfortunately,” Castiel lies back on the couch, knees pointed sharply at the ceiling. “They want him to start going back to church. They think he might be on a bad path, but I highly doubt that church is the answer f—”

“You dirty little heathen.”

“—For _Gabriel_ ,” Castiel sits up only to deliver a pointed glare before he flops back again. “Spirituality helps a lot of people through their darkest times. I do not think Gabriel is someone who can be helped by that at this time. Or quite possibly ever.”

Dean hums, but says nothing.

So, Castiel takes it upon himself to continue, “What’s going on? You’re being weird.”

“I’m not weird,” Dean snorts. “You’re weird.”

“Dean,” Castiel implores.

“Ah, fine,” Dean thuds his head back against the cushions. “I talked to him the other day, and he kinda said something along the lines of, uh. I guess, killing himself. If pastry school doesn’t work out.”

Castiel sits all the way up at that, laughter and ease gone entirely from his face.

“What?”

“I don’t know,” Dean shrugs. “He was talking to me about it, and he just made it sound like this was his last act before he decided to call it quits, man. What the hell are you supposed to do when someone does that?”

Castiel leaps up from the couch and charges through the living room, to the front door. Dean follows at his heels, trying to get Castiel’s attention, but it’s no use. He’s in that laser focus right now, hell-bent on carrying out whatever task he’s charged himself with.

He and Dean march through the front door of the Novak household and right upstairs to where Gabriel is watching TV on his computer, blessedly clothed.

“Hey, kids, where’s the party?” Gabe asks, but his humor is short-lived as soon as he sees Cas’ face. “Whoa, Cassie, what’s up?”

“Did you tell Dean that you were going to commit suicide if you don’t get into pastry school?” Castiel’s frankness, in this case, does not help the situation.

“Dude!” Gabe just shouts at Dean.

“Fuck you!” Dean returns. “You don’t just put that shit on people and expect them not to tell anyone.”

“I said that like two days ago, asshole,” Gabriel scowls. “How many ways could I be dead by now?”

Castiel punches him hard on the arm.

“Don’t joke about that!” he demands. “It’s not funny and it’s not okay that you’re talking like that. And if that’s how you’re feeling, that’s not okay either.”

Gabriel rolls his eyes.

“Good to know, I’ll log that away for future reference.”

“Gabriel,” Cas glowers back at him. “If this is a problem then please, we need to find someone for you to talk to.”

“s’not a problem, though,” Gabe sits back against his pillows.

“You’re talking about taking your own life and you don’t think that’s a problem?” Castiel socks him again. “I don’t care if you don’t believe in God, or anything like that. You don’t get to talk about this.”

“Dude, fuck off!”

“No!” Castiel comes back. He’s shaking, and Dean can practically smell the fear rolling off of him. He wants to reach out and press a comforting hand to his shoulder, but he refrains. This isn’t about him, and he already feels like a jackass for even being here when it’s so clearly meant to be just Cas and Gabe.

“If you don’t step the fucking fuck off, I’ll take you the fuck down with me, buddy,” Gabe warns.

“I’d like to see you try!” Cas challenges, at which point Dean steps in between them.

“Jesus Christ, _enough,_ ” he bellows. “You’re both gonna end up killing each other if you’re not careful.”

“Yeah, right,” Gabriel scoffs, scooting off the bed. “If I’m going to die by anyone’s hand, it’s gonna be my own.”

“Gabriel!” Cas exclaims.

“Call it a point of pride,” Gabriel returns darkly. He grabs his coat off of the back of his desk chair and slides it over his shoulders.  “I’m going out.”

“Oh, right,” Castiel lets out a mirthless laugh. “In what _world_ do you think I’d let you go out after you’ve been talking the way you’ve been talking.”

Gabriel shrugs.

“This one.”

Castiel attempts to catch him, but the chase proves fruitless as Dean watches Cas stop in the middle of the lawn, helplessly panting as Gabriel drives away. Dean darts down the stairs and out to Castiel, who stands shell-shocked still in the same place as before.

“Cas, I—”

“Don’t, Dean,” Cas’ voice comes back raspy.

Dean doesn’t.

**oo**

Gabriel makes himself scarce.

Dean wants to help, but Castiel has detached himself somewhat too. Every time Dean wants to hang out now, he has homework to do, or a test to study for, and while Dean knows Cas takes his schoolwork more seriously than Dean ever did, he’s never turned down a blowjob and burgers before.

Dad comes home then, and things only get worse. He’s back to stiff spines and obeying orders, and those orders don’t include checking on his friends.

There was apparently a pretty nasty ghoul down in Wichita; dad will be on the mend for at least a couple of days. While he rests up, it’s Dean’s job to make sure Sammy gets where he needs to go, to buy food and to keep everything running smoothly.

Well, Winchester-smooth, which is probably rocky as all hell for anyone else.

It does kind of suck that dad can’t make it to Sam’s soccer game.

Dean goes, though, and to his surprise, so does Cas.

“Sam said your dad couldn’t make it,” Cas explains as he stands beside Dean on the bleachers. “And perhaps I knew you would be here alone.”

Dean’s lips quirk up in a half smile and he pats the hard metal seat beside him. Cas sits and stuffs his hands in his sweater pockets. He scans the field for Sam, and sighs when he finally makes eye contact.

“Is he any good?” Cas asks.

“Pretty decent, yeah,” Dean can’t look away from Cas’ face. He wants so badly to pull Cas into him and kiss those full, gorgeous lips out of their perpetual serious line. He wants to run his fingers through Cas’ hair and make it stand up on end, because his hair is funny like that; he wants to lay Cas down in the back of the Impala and go to town on him, soccer game be damned.

But there are parents here, none of whom would appreciate Dean tongue-fucking the daylights out of Cas’ mouth.

He looks down at where Cas’ hands are in his pockets and decides he’ll be just a little bold. He nudges Cas in the arm and turns his palm up in invitation.

Castiel raises an eyebrow back at him, but ultimately accepts.

His hand is nice and warm, and closes so perfectly around Dean’s that it makes his heart race.

Behind them, a woman clears her throat and lets out a noise of disapproval. Dean doesn’t turn around all the way, just enough so he can see the woman out of the corner of his eye.

He laces their fingers together.

The warmth from his hand meets with the warmth in Dean’s chest and spreads like wildfire throughout the rest of his body.

Cas came to watch Sammy play soccer.

They’re holding hands.

Fuck.

He has feelings for this guy, doesn’t he?

Dean swallows back the realization. In their family, ‘feelings’ may as well be a four-letter word, the one true ‘F’ word you never want dad to catch you saying.

Feelings get in the way of duty, get in the way of _the job_. Dad says that if you want to be a Hunter, you have to stuff your feelings down and just _get it done_.

Feelings make you weak.

But Dean doesn’t feel weak right now. Even with the lady scowling behind them, Dean feels like he could take over the world.

Whatever Cas stirs up inside Dean, he’s pretty sure it makes him stronger.

“What?” asks Cas when he catches Dean staring.

“Nothin’.”

 **oo**  

Sam’s team loses.

Apparently, Sam is not as great of a player as Dean initially believed. It’s Cas who points out that Sam has not yet gotten used to his reedy legs, that he’s growing so fast his center of balance is entirely off (as is demonstrated when he starts to run and trips over one of his big-ass boat feet).

He ends the game grass-stained, bruised, and a little bloody on his knees.

Dean and Cas take him out for consolation pizza.

“You did well, Sam,” Cas tries to be reassuring.

“I stink,” Sam returns, dejectedly staring at his uneaten slice of pizza.

“Eh, so what?” Dean shrugs. “You’re twelve, what twelve year old is good at soccer?”

“The twelve-year-olds who beat us?” Sam offers, in no mood to even entertain encouragement. “Dad’s right, this was stupid.”

“Holy shit, you got a fever or something?” Dean asks. “’cause I swore I just heard you say that dad was right about something.”

“He was not right,” Castiel interjects quickly. “Sam, I know you’re upset, but each loss is a chance to improve. Do you like playing soccer?”

“Yeah,” Sam shrugs.

“What do you like about it?” asks Castiel. Sam shrugs again.

“Makes me feel normal,” he looks up, though pointedly does not catch Dean’s eye.

Shit.

Dean’s always so caught up in thinking what dad does is cool that he forgets sometimes that Sammy doesn’t feel the same way.

“When’s your next game?” asks Dean.

“Next Saturday morning,” Sam mumbles.

“Awesome,” Dean smiles back. “I’ll be there. Cas?”

“I’ll also be there,” Cas confirms. “It’s sort of fun having someone to cheer for. It makes soccer much more watchable.”

Dean snorts and Sam smiles.

And then Castiel makes the mistake of asking Sam about the game and how it’s played, and they spend an extra hour teaching Cas the ins and outs of a bunch of different sports.

By the time they make it back to their street, Sam appears to be dealing with the loss much better. Dean parks the Impala in the driveway and invites Cas inside to hang out, an invitation Castiel accepts without realizing that John Winchester is also inside.

Dad is passed out on the couch, TV flickering blue light over his ragged, bone-tired form, a couple of beers on the coffee table in front of him. Dean sees Sam’s jaw set out of the corner of his eye.

He stomps up the stairs, Dean assumes to start on his homework, while Castiel backs up toward the door.

“I should go,” he says.

“Wait,” Dean catches him by the sleeve. “I wanna hang out.”

“I know, Dean,” Castiel sighs. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea.”

He looks pointedly at John on the couch, and Dean licks his lips.

“We can hang out somewhere else,” he says. “I just—I miss you, Cas.”

Castiel softens at that and lets out yet another sigh.

“Let’s go to my house,” he says. “We can hang out in my room.”

Dean follows Cas like a lost puppy. He can feel himself desperate for Castiel’s hands on him, for his smile, for his body pressed against his.

Shit, he can’t get a boner before they’re even in the house.

“Hello, Mrs. Novak,” Dean greets as they enter the house. Mrs. Novak looks confusedly back at him, holding herself steady against the counter in the kitchen.

“Mom, Dean and I are hanging out upstairs,” Castiel grabs Dean by the wrist and pulls him up to his room. Gabriel is out, it looks like, and the moment Cas realizes this he locks the door.

They just look at each other for a few moments before Cas lets out a noise of excitement and pummels him. He throws his arm around Dean’s shoulders and brings him into a kiss, frenzied and barely contained. Dean’s hands settle on Cas’ hips, fingers dipping just slightly below the tops of his jeans.

“I’ve wanted to do that since the soccer game,” Cas admits.

“Thank God, me too,” Dean sighs and pulls Castiel even closer to him. They move to Castiel’s bed, and Dean lays him out flat below him. He rolls his hips against Cas’, sighing into the incredible relief of _friction_.

Dean loves when they get to make out like this, when they get to paw and grope and rut like the teenagers that they are. Except the bed proves to be too squeaky for all that, so Castiel pulls him down to the floor, rolling so that he’s on top.

He smiles down at Dean then with this lupine look in his eye and fuck, oh fuck, he has no right to be this downright drop-dead sexy. Cas lowers his lips to meet Dean’s again, wriggling against his hips just so.

Dean tries to keep his whine in his throat, and it turns into an inhuman squeak that sends Cas into a fit of laughter.

“Shut up,” Dean jabs him in the stomach.

“No,” Cas returns, color high in his cheeks and smile wide. “I like when you make sounds, it’s cute.”

“Cute?” Dean’s eyebrows go up.

“Yeah, you sounded like a little mouse,” Cas laughs back, and then tries to mimic the noise.

“You’re a fucking dork,” Dean shakes his head.

“Perhaps,” Castiel nods. “I’m a dork that’s gonna suck your brain out through your dick, though.”

Dean’s breath hitches at that, and Castiel returns to their hot and heavy make out.  Cas likes kissing, he’s noticed. He likes running his lips and his tongue over Dean’s skin, likes seeing which strokes do what. Dean takes the opportunity to run his fingers over the flat planes of Cas’ chest, up over his back.

Cas doesn’t push away as his hands as they slip lower and lower, and eventually come to cup his ass through the worn denim of his jeans.

Castiel pulls back slightly, curious look on his face, and he asks, “May I help you?”

“Maybe,” Dean shrugs.

Castiel’s mouth quirks at the corner.

“You like my butt,” he concludes.

“Guilty,” Dean gives back a cheeky grin.

“I like yours too,” Castiel beams.

“Yeah?” Dean grins.

Castiel hums and kisses Dean again. “You were looking under the hood of your dad’s car the other day and I wanted to take a big bite of it,” he says, and hell if that doesn’t make Dean’s cheeks go bright red.

“No kidding,” he laughs, breathless, and then gulps down his nerves. “You, um… you could, if you wanted.”

“Take a bite of your butt?” Cas laughs. “That might hurt.”

“No, I mean,” Dean licks his now very dry lips. Shit, what is he trying to say? Even he doesn’t know. Castiel gives him this curious look, and Dean responds by licking his lips again.

“Uh, have you ever—would you ever,” Dean corrects himself. “How far would you want to go?”

“In terms of what?” Castiel asks, even more confused than before.

“Sex, Cas,” Dean comes back, his reply now hanging in the ‘ _I Should Not Have Had to Say That_ ’ Hall of Fame.

“Oh,” Cas sits up, grinding back on the lump in Dean’s pants. “I would like to try that, yes.”

“Okay,” Dean props himself up on his elbows. “Like, butt stuff?”

“Butt stuff,” Cas repeats. “I suppose, if that’s what you’d like to call it. Have you ever done something like that before?”

Dean nods, and Castiel raises his eyebrows.

“Just with toys!” Dean explains quickly. “Um, Lisa told me if I wanted to do it to her, she got to do it to me.”

Castiel’s eyebrows crunch together and he cocks his head.

“And you said ‘okay’?”

“Yeah, dude,” Dean lets out a shaky breath. “You seen her ass? I’d have done anything to get at that.”

Castiel hums, this calculating look on his face.

“I think you just wanted something in your butt.”

Dean rolls his eyes, but can’t hide his guilty smile.

“If you wanted,” he continues. “We could do that. I’ll be on the bottom. If you want.”

“Hang on,” Cas fishes his phone out of his pocket and starts texting.

“What are you doing?”

“Asking Gabriel where he keeps his condoms, and if he has any lube.”

“Dude!”

“Would you rather I didn’t?” Castiel raises an eyebrow. “Because ouch.”

“No, but,” Dean squirms. “Now he’ll know what we’re doing.”

“So?” Castiel shrugs. His phone vibrates and he reads, “ _‘Top drawer of my nightstand. Wrap it up, I’m too young to be an uncle.’_ Well, that’s not even biologically accurate.”

“Cas!” Dean exclaims. “Focus up.”

“Oh, right,” Castiel tosses his phone back on his bed and heads for Gabriel’s nightstand.

He procures a bottle of lube and a couple of condoms and sets them down on the floor beside him, sitting back on his legs and awaiting instructions like an obedient dog. Dean chuckles and grabs the lube. It’s slippery, but Dean decides not to think about it.

“First things first,” he looks at Cas. “Kiss me some more.”

Castiel looks surprised by the instruction, but he abides, climbing back over Dean and picking up right where he left off. He pushes his fingers up Dean’s shirt and pushes it up his torso. He dips down and swipes the flat of his warm, thick tongue over Dean’s nipple. Dean sighs and arches into it.

Cas just focuses so easily on what he does, losing himself in Dean. He kisses and bites and licks a bright red flush of blood up to Dean’s skin. He’s hard in his jeans, and takes to rolling against Cas’ thigh for even a smidgen of relief.

Nerves make Cas’ movements sharper, though, and so much more jittery. He can barely get Dean’s pants undone, let alone reassure Dean that he’ll take care of him. All Castiel manages to say is, “I don’t—you’re fine.”

Dean doesn’t mean to snort, but he does anyway.

“Fine,” he repeats, “Like, _damn boy, you fine_?”

“No,” Cas hangs his head. “Shit, I am not good at this.”

“Relax,” Dean reaches his hands above his head. Maybe if he pretends to be chill, Castiel will follow suit and absorb the mood. “You’re okay, dude.”

“I meant,” Cas tries again, palming at Dean’s erection through his boxers. “I meant that you’ll be okay. Because I’ll take care of you.”

He pauses, and Dean feels a blush return to his cheeks when he asks, “Is that too strange to say?”

“No,” Dean shakes his head. “I… I trust you, man.”

And he does trust Cas. Cas is smart, and honest, and he may be a little weird, but Dean is weird too and so he appreciates the weird in others. Most of all, Cas is really caring when it comes down to it.

“Thank you,” Castiel ends up replying, as though it’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to him. “I trust you too, Dean.”

And hell if that doesn’t feel good.

Cas pulls off Dean’s pants, and then repeats the action on himself, just so Dean won’t feel left out.

Cas is just good like that.

He pushes Dean’s knees apart and just… looks.

What a sight he’s got to be, too—disheveled and tenting his boxers like the goddamned circus is in town. Cas reaches out and strokes a timid finger over the little wet patch on the cheap cotton restraining Dean’s dick.

“Fuck,” Dean lets his head fall back. “You’ve seen it before, man. You’ve had it in your mouth.”

“I know,” Cas nods. “Did it ever cross your mind that I may be teasing you on purpose?”

“Ever cross your mind that you’re a dick?” Dean shoots back, and Castiel just looks up at him with what Dean can only accurate describe as ‘ _bitch, please’_ face.

Cas pulls Dean’s boxers down and off, but doesn’t stop teasing. Rather than go right for his cock, like he always does, Cas takes a moment to soak it all in, to map out and plan just what it is that he has to do.

He runs a finger down through Dean’s crack, just a barely-there touch, and Dean’s whole body jerks.

“Get the lube,” Dean instructs. “You gotta stretch me.”

“I’m a virgin, not an idiot,” Cas looks back up at him. “You, however, are bossy.”

“I’m not bossy,” Dean frowns. “Take that back.”

Castiel gives him another _look_ , and Dean catches on.

“Man, whatever,” he frowns and looks up at the ceiling. He kind of likes it when Cas mouths off to him, though. He likes the raw confidence that comes through when he knows that he has Dean wedged under his thumb.

Cas grabs big handfuls of Dean’s ass cheeks and props him up, spreading him open. God, even Lisa didn’t do that. Castiel apparently needs to know the goddamned topography of the region before he even thinks about going on.

Before he does anything, he pops his index finger into his mouth and gets it wet.

And then he strokes over Dean’s rim, and fuck, whatever blood isn’t in his cock rushes straight up to his face.

“Is that okay?” Cas asks.

“Yeah,” Dean sighs. “It’s, uh… it’s nice, Cas.”

“You sound uncertain,” Castiel notes.

“Yeah, ‘cause you’re acting like an impotent proctologist and not my fuckable wet-dream of a neighbor,” Dean snaps back. “Fuck, you are goddamned _killing_ me.”

“You are terribly impatient,” Cas clucks his tongue. “And you are also very, very hard.”

“I know, because some fuckin’ jerk keeps touching me,” Dean wriggles, and Cas smiles.

He grabs the lube then and squirts a healthy amount onto his fingers.

He makes a face.

“You’ve never touched lube before, have you?” Dean lets out a laugh.

“It’s unsettling,” Cas frowns. “But bearable.”

He strokes one slippery digit back over Dean’s rim, and Dean moans.

He presses his finger inside.

Dean has done this to himself a couple of times. He’s gotten two fingers in before, much thicker than the vibrator he’d let Lisa use on him before. Cas’ fingers feel different though, better.

Probably because they are attached to Cas.

“That’s good,” Dean sighs. “Real nice.”

“Okay,” Cas nods back, bright pink tongue darting out to wet his lips. “Would you like another?”

Dean nods.

Castiel presses another finger inside him. His are not as thick as Dean’s and are a lot longer, but they’re about as clumsy in their prying. They catch on Dean’s prostate once, and Dean lets out a loud noise that Cas immediately muffles with his free hand.

“My mother is downstairs,” he whispers. “And my sister is probably in her room right next door. You have to be quiet.”

“Oh, really,” Dean tears away from Cas’ hand, pleasure taking the edge off of his voice. “I’m not the one with the lungs of a goddamned amateur porn star.”

Cas pinches the softness on Dean’s flank.

Dean can see the outline of Cas’ cock straining his briefs, but he never moves to touch himself even once before he gets Dean nice and stretched. He’s careful in his movements, precise and methodical.

The third finger hurts a little at first, but Cas squirts on some more lube and keeps his pace.

Dean’s gone a little soft against his belly, so Cas ducks down and laps at the head of his cock. He kisses it, nuzzles it, breathing in whatever aroma it is that he apparently finds to be so intoxicating.

Dean sort of likes that Cas likes how he smells.

“God,” he thrusts back against Cas’ fingers. “Cas, c’mon. I’m goin’ crazy over here.”

“I don’t want to hurt you, Dean,” Cas comes back much too frankly for the situation.

“Fuck off,” Dean thunks his head back against the carpet. “I’m tough, I promise I’m ready.”

“Okay,” Cas nods and slides his fingers oh-so slowly out.

Dean hisses.

Cas’ fingers are too slippery to open the condom, so he rips it open with his teeth _while_ trying to wriggle out of his underwear.

It’s entertaining, to say the least.

“Hey, Captain Doofus, c’mere,” Dean pushes himself up and takes the condom from Cas. He removes the slippery rubber and, as soon as Cas has rid himself of the offending clothing, takes him in his hand and gives him a stroke.

“Oh, God,” Cas hangs onto Dean’s shoulders. His cock is harder than Dean has ever felt flushed deep purple-red with neglect. “Don’t do that, I’ll come.”

“Condom should help,” Dean reassures him, and rolls it down over Cas’ cock.

“Bossy,” Cas just repeats and brings Dean into a sloppy, heated kiss. They fall back to the floor, kissing and grabbing and—everything.

This moment is fucking _everything_.

Dean lets Cas throw his ankles up over his shoulders, lets him spread his cheeks wide and smile.

“Ready?” he asks then, blue eyes peeking out from under his dark, messy mop of hair.

“Fuck yeah,” Dean confirms, only to be silenced entirely by the blunt head of Cas’ cock pushing into him.

That’s more than fingers that’s more than fingers _holy fuckballs that is more than fingers._

“You’re okay,” Cas reassures him, soothing a hand over Dean’s stomach and up under his shirt. “I’ve got you.”

Dean nods and lets out a breath.

The shock of it was the worst. The stretch, now that he’s in it, isn’t so bad.

It is a little surreal, though, having Castiel _inside him_.

Is this how girls feel?

As soon as Cas is buried deep in him, he gives Dean a kiss just on the inside of each knee.

“D-dork,” Dean manages.

“Shut up,” Cas screws his eyes shut and takes a few deep breaths. For a second, Dean can’t tell if that’s pleasure or pain etched into his face, but gets his answer when Cas’ fingernails dig into his leg and he mutters, ”Holy crap, this feels good.”

“Right?” Dean gives a delirious laugh. “Fuck, you can move. I gotta see more of your first time, man.”

“Don’t _watch_ me,” Cas whines.

“Best show in town, angel face,” Dean jokes back, some of the blood having escaped his erection and returned to his brain. “No can do.”

Cas grunts and makes the first shallow thrust with his hips. Every move he makes from then on just kind of steals Dean’s breath, and he can’t get it back no matter how hard he tries.

Cas’ thrusts pick up then, and there’s little Dean can do but allow himself to get lost in it. Lost in the way his t-shirt sticks to his skin, in the way their hair mats with sweat and their bodies piston against each other; he lets himself get lost in Cas telling him how gorgeous he is, how good he is, how _tight_ he is.

Yeah, he definitely digs this way more than he should.

Dean reaches down for his own erection as Cas picks up his pace. Watching Cas, knowing that he’s finally— _finally_ —got a boy inside him, it’s enough to get him hard again.

Cas doesn’t last very long.

Understandable, Dean doesn’t hold him responsible. He just wraps his arms around Cas’ shoulders and holds him as his orgasm hits him, lets Cas bite down on his shoulder to keep himself from crying out and startling his mom or his sister.

He kisses the top of Cas’ head.

“You good?”

Cas nods, and then starts kissing Dean on his neck and down his chest, further and further until he has Dean back in his mouth. He’s still inside Dean, going soft, and he’s all bent over and sucking Dean off.

Dean’s toes curl and his breath escapes him. He’s close he’s so close.

As much as he wants to grab onto Cas’ hair and fuck his mouth, he knows he can’t. So, he claps his hands over his own mouth and stifles his groans as he comes hard down Cas’ throat.

He swallows and looks up.

Like he hasn’t just done the sexiest thing Dean has ever seen.

“You are a piece of work,” Dean concludes through a sigh as Cas pulls out. “You’re gonna be the end of me.”

“Great,” Cas yawns and pulls the condom off and tosses it into the trash. “Can I be the end of you later? I’m sleepy.”

“Yeah,” Dean pushes himself up and they both redress. Dean cracks the window open and starts wafting the air out.

“Gotta get rid of the sex funk,” he explains when Castiel looks at him like he’s a crazy person.

“Right,” Cas yawns again. “Lemme know how that goes.”

He actually looks quite cozy there on his bed.

“Uh,” Dean clears his throat. “You mind if I get in on that?”

Wordless, Cas opens up his arms and gestures for Dean to come to him.

Dean does not need to be told twice.

**oo**

Dean wakes to the sound of a doorknob jiggling and sits bolt upright. It’s then that he realizes both that he is not in his bed and that his ass is really sore.  

“Cas, open the door or I get dad to open it,” Gabriel threatens from the other side. Dean leaps up from the bed then, but that was a bad idea. He moves a little more gingerly now and opens up the door, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

“Holy fuck,” Gabe chuckles. “You do it on the goddamned floor or what?”

Dean only has to grab the back of his neck and pointedly avoid eye-contact before Gabriel hisses and grabs Dean by the back of the shirt.

“Hey, what the fuck!”

“Oh, man,” Gabe peers under his shirt. “That is some unholy fuckin’ rug burn you got goin’ on, my friend.”

“Man, cut that shit out,” Dean pulls his shirt down. “That’s none of your business.”

“My brother fucked you, didn’t he?”

“Dude,” Dean swats Gabriel’s hand away.

“That,” Gabe then gestures to where Cas still sleeps soundly on his bed, curled into himself at the loss of body heat beside him. His face loses its serious edge in sleep, his body goes lax.

It’s kinda cute.

“Man, you have got it _bad_ ,” Gabe shakes his head.

“Shut up,” Dean shoves him back.

Even if he does have it bad, it’s none of Gabe’s fucking business.

Goddamn it, he’s got it so bad for Cas.

“You like a nerd,” Gabriel sing-songs, and Dean socks him on the shoulder.

Cas stirs on the bed then, confusedly blinking at the both of them before he understands just what’s going on.

“Gabriel, what the hell?”

“He let me in,” Gabe shrugs. “It’s my room too, I can do what I want.”

“What if we’d been naked?” Cas sits up.

“Then we all would’ve had a pretty awkward moment,” Gabe shrugs. “C’mon, look alive, dinner’s in ten.”

“All right,” Cas rubs his eyes. “Dean, would you like to stay for dinner?”

“You can come with me after,” Gabe offers. “There’s a shindig going down at Kali’s house and I could alwas use a buddy.”

“Uh, no I’m okay,” Dean clears his throat. “On both counts sorry. I should head home.”

“May I walk with you?” Castiel asks.

Gabe makes a face, complete with big goo-goo eyes, and Dean pushes him away, replying, “Yeah, let’s go.”

Castiel notices how tenderly Dean walks toward the door, but before he can say anything, Gabriel warns, “Try not to look too much like you got your ass reamed.”

Both Cas and Dean flip him off for that.

Except Dean does pay special attention to how he walks once he’s downstairs and bids goodbye to Mr. and Mrs. Novak.

“Dean?” Cas asks as soon as they’re down on the sidewalk.

“What’s up?”

“Was that all right,” he asks, “what we just did?”

 “’course it was,” Dean nods back. “Uh, was it all right with you?”

Cas nods.

“I’d like to try it the other way around sometime,” he adds, and Dean laughs.

“What?”

“Nothin’,” Dean shakes his head, wincing against the bright orange glare of the setting sun. “Just kinda glad you’re almost as much of a slut as I am, is all.”

Cas cracks a smile, “I don’t know that that’s possible, Dean, but I’m flattered you think so.”

Without even thinking, Dean surges forward and pulls Cas into a kiss. Anyone could see them out on the street like this, and knowing their neighbors, some of them probably do. Cas doesn’t seem to care though, and so neither does Dean.

And as much as Dean wants to make a joke about how Cas is _such a gentleman_ for walking him all the way to his door, he never does. For whatever reason, this doesn’t feel like it needs a cheap shot of humor.

Maybe it’s because Cas’ eyes are so earnest, and his smile is so genuine.

Maybe it’s because it feels like there’s something here now, more than what was here before.

“Busy tomorrow?” asks Dean.

“Not that I know of,” Cas shakes his head.

“Cool,” he nods. “Maybe I can score the car for a few hours. We can hang out.”

Castiel smiles back.

“I’d like that.”

It feels wrong not to kiss before Cas goes back home, but it’s too risky on the doorstep. Dean just pushes his way inside and sees dad pouring over a spread of notes on the coffee table.

“What’s that?” he asks.

“Bobby’s dealing with something pretty nasty up in Bismarck, I’m doing a little digging for him,” dad explains right back, gruffness in his voice making Dean’s spine go straight. “The hell have you been?”

“I was with Cas,” Dean replies crisply.

“Who?”

“The, uh, kid,” Dean makes a vague gesture at his own head. “With the hair.”

“Right,” dad nods. “He’s an odd bird ain’t he?”

“Kind of, yeah,” Dean clears his throat. “Nice, though.”

Dad looks at him for that, calculating in that same way Sam looks at him sometimes. He relaxes then and returns to his notes.

“I know we’re going to be here for a while, while Sam finishes up middle school, but,” John sniffs. “I don’t want to hear you bitching and moaning about leaving your friend when we do finally leave.”

Weight settles heavy on Dean’s heart. However high up on Cloud Nine he’d been, it all just disappeared right from under him.

Sam’s done with middle school in a year and a half. That’s about when Cas will be done with high school.

Maybe Cas could go with them. He already knows what they do… maybe he’d make a good Hunter.

“Hey,” dad says then. “You wanna make yourself useful, go check on Sam. I haven’t seen him all day.”

“He was kinda pissed after he lost his soccer game,” Dean mentions, but dad’s already tuned him out. Dean knows the job is important, maybe that’s why it’s easier for him to forgive dad when he can’t be at every soccer game or parent teacher night. That’s what Dean’s for. If he can’t do the job (or, if dad won’t let him), he can at least look after Sam.

Sam is on his bed, homework on his lap and scowl on his face.

“Hey,” Dean flops down on his bed. “How’s your night?”

“I had Doritos for dinner,” Sam mentions lightly, not looking up from his homework. “Dad’s being a dick. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

“Hey, he’s helping Uncle Bobby, okay?” Dean rolls over onto his back and stares at a water stain in the ceiling. “He wanted me to check on you.”

“I’ve been checked on,” Sam confirms, hostility edging into his voice.

Fine. Dean can tell when he’s not wanted.

He grabs his walkman off of the floor and shoves the headphones into his ears.

His buzz has officially been killed.

All he can do now is turn up the volume on _A Night at the Opera_ and remember how Cas’ face lit up the first time he heard actual music.


	13. Perhaps They'll Listen Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Now I think I know what you tried to say to me   
> And how you suffered for your sanity   
> And how you tried to set them free   
> They would not listen, they're not listening still   
> Perhaps they never will"
> 
> Vincent - Don McLean

“I just had sex.”

“Great, I’ll tattoo it on your forehead,” Gabriel replies from where he pulls a clean shirt on over his head. “With a nice big cock and balls on either side.”

“With Dean Winchester,” Castiel continues, as though Gabriel had never met anyone named Dean Winchester in his life.

“Tell me more, tell me more, like, does he have a car?” Gabriel mocks back in a nasal falsetto that has Castiel wishing he knew the rest of that song to which he is referring so he could be as much of a pest as Gabriel _just this once_.

He props himself up on his elbows instead and asks, “Why are you putting on a clean shirt?”

Gabriel raises an eyebrow and replies, as one would to a head wound patient, “Because the other one was dirty.”

“You don’t usually care about those kinds of things,” Castiel notes. “I’ve seen you go to parties in clothes from the previous night’s party, and they are not always vomit-free.”

“Thanks,” Gabriel returns, flat. “I’ll be sure to keep in mind that on top of everything else I’m a hideous slob.”

Castiel doesn’t quite know what to say to that, but he doesn’t like the punch in the gut those words land.

“Why do you go to parties so much?” he asks then, sitting up all the way. “You’re not all that fond of being around other people. You’re more of a solitary.”

“A loner?” Gabe offers, and Cas shakes his head.

“No,” he says. “Solitary is better.”

Though he can’t seem to place why that is.

“Well, I’m gonna go be solitary at Kali’s now,” Gabriel declares and heads out the door. “Don’t wait up.”

“I never do,” Castiel calls back and flops onto his bed again.

He rolls over and looks at that spot on the floor. If he tries really hard he can still see the outline of Dean’s back in the thick fibers.

Castiel pulls his phone off of his bedside table and pulls up a message to Dean.

 _‘I can’t seem to stop smiling_.’

A few moments later he gets a response, _‘i tend to hav that affect on people.’_

_‘It is one of your finer qualities. Should I be getting hard again so fast?’_

_‘dont tease me, jackass’_

Castiel presses his phone into his chest and smiles up at the baseboards above him. His heart hammers hard in his chest, for absolutely no reason. There’s no doubt that Dean likes him, and really there never has been. He knows that Dean will more than accept any invitation he extends.

He brings up the conversation again and replies, _‘Come over?’_

_‘ovr n 10’_

Castiel swells in his jeans and sits up. He grabs the lube and condoms from Gabriel’s bedside table again and arranges them on his own. Then he finds himself wondering if he should be doing something sexy-like. Isn’t this when girls wear lingerie?

He doesn’t have lingerie. He doesn’t even have form-fitting underwear.

Ten minutes and Dean is at his front door again. He looks sleepy, like Castiel interrupted a nap. Quite frankly, he looks like he’s asking for a good and thorough ravishing. Castiel wants to pull him into a kiss right there, to press him into the door and fuck him right there.

Crimeny, one romp on the floor and already Castiel is throwing himself around like the whore of Babylon.

Castiel sneaks him past his family, who are in the living room watching something he couldn’t give a crap about.

As soon as they’re behind the closed door, Castiel pulls Dean into him, mushing their lips together. This isn’t as frantic as earlier. Earlier was nice, but Castiel thinks he likes this better, likes plying Dean’s mouth open slowly and teasing gasps out of him.

“How are you?” Castiel asks, dragging his hands up Dean’s sides.

“Fine,” Dean smiles against him, ducking back in to suck Castiel’s lips between his. “Guess, you weren’t kidding about getting hard again.”

“Why would I kid about that?” Castiel asks very seriously. “Are you sore?”

“Kinda,” Dean shrugs. “I could go again though, if you want. Just be careful.”

Their clothes come off in staggered pieces, littering the floor in scattered piles.

They’re naked in front of each other. All the way naked.

Castiel thinks he should probably be a little more nervous, but he’s not. Dean’s eyes devour him, his fingertips brush over the planes of his chest and his stomach. It makes Castiel’s erection twitch, begging for attention, but Castiel tries to drown out the niggling desires.

He wants to take care of Dean first.

“Here, sit on the bed,” Castiel guides him back and kneels in front of him. Dean is getting hard too, cock getting nice and thick against his leg.

God, what a beautiful sight.

Castiel draws his fingertips over the insides of Dean’s thighs and smiles when he hears Dean’s breath catch in his throat. Dean’s scent is strongest here, thick and heady and masculine.

He drags his tongue over Dean’s ballsack and revels in the sigh that comes out of his throat. Palms on his thighs, he spreads Dean open a little further and sees his hole, red and puffed up from earlier.

He runs his tongue over his lips and looks up at Dean.

Dean is watching him with matching intensity.

“What?” Castiel asks.

“You’re fucking hot as hell,” Dean breathes back. The smile that comes up on Castiel’s face has to be goofy as all get out, but Dean leans down to kiss it off his face anyway.

Castiel returns his lips to Dean’s thighs, kissing up and up until he presses against Dean’s opening.

“ _Oh_ ,” Dean breathes.

“Is this okay?” Cas glances up.

Dean whines in response, canting his hips closer to Castiel’s mouth.

So Cas does it again, and again. And then he flattens out his tongue and licks a long stroke over the quivering ring of muscle.

It’s one of the most counterintuitive things Castiel has ever done, and it’s also one of the most delightful.

“ _Fuck_ , Cas,” Dean hiccups. “That feels so good.”

The encouragement has Cas trying harder and harder, pushing his tongue into Dean as far as he can go. He’s still a little open from earlier, but he clenches around Castiel’s tongue and stifles a moan against his hand.

Castiel throws Dean’s legs over his shoulders and pulls him closer, wanting to lick as deep as he can go.

Because the deeper he goes, the harder Dean begs for more.

He pulls away with spit all over his mouth and chin, but Dean kisses him anyway.

Dean’s cock is hard against his belly now, leaking a pretty pool of precome against the softness of his lovely pale skin. Castiel dips back down and licks it all up.

“Okay, that’s it,” Dean decides and pulls on Castiel’s hair. Cas whines and digs his blunt fingernails into Dean’s skin. “You gotta fuck me before I lose it, man.”

Castiel looks up at him, and laughs when Dean hands him the lube.

“Can we,” Dean swallows and slides off the bed. He plants his hands and knees in the carpet and looks back at Cas. “I wanna do it like this.”

“No kidding,” Cas laughs and pops open the lube again. Dean’s not as tight as earlier, but Castiel stretches him thoroughly anyway. On his back, Castiel can see where the carpet rubbed him raw before.

He leans over and presses a kiss into the red patch of skin, and hooks a finger to catch on Dean’s prostate.

Dean’s breath hitches again.

“You like that?” Castiel murmurs into Dean’s skin.

“Yeah,” Dean sighs.

“You’re so nice and open for me,” Cas swallows hard, not sure why he feels so compelled to say something so dirty, other than the fact that it gives him a thrill.

Precome drools out of Dean’s cock and lands on the carpet, and Castiel moans.

“You ready?” he asks.

“Fuck me,” Dean replies.

“I need a yes or a no, Dean,” Castiel presses.

“Yes, I am ready,” Dean snaps, “ _Fuck me_.”

Castiel beams and withdraws his fingers, pressing kisses to both cheeks before he reaches up and grabs a condom off his bedside table.

How is this so much easier now than it was a couple hours ago?

Dean keens as Castiel lubes himself up and presses inside.

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Castiel whines. He’s ignored himself entirely after becoming wrapped up in pleasing Dean, and now he’s so-so sensitive.

“You feel so good, baby,” Dean groans into the carpet. Castiel’s heart stammers at _baby_ , but he keeps his head and presses inside Dean steadily, trying to keep his mind off of how badly he wants to come.

He just needs a minute to get his wits back, is all. It was over way too quickly last time—relatively, anyway, considering the fact that Castiel could stay inside Dean forever and be perfectly content.

“God, if you don’t go, I’m gonna flip you over and ride your dick ‘til the fuckin’ sun comes up,” Dean threatens.

Except it’s not much of a threat, but whatever.

He starts to move, muffling his groans in the space between Dean’s shoulder blades.

“ _God_ yeah,” Dean bucks back against him. “Just like that, _fuck_.”

Cas’ fingers dig into Dean’s hips as they struggle to find a rhythm. Either way, it feels amazing, like he’s scratching the itch he’s had under his skin ever since he walked Dean back home.

Dean adjusts so he can wrap a hand around himself and jerk in time with their hips as best as he can.

Castiel looks down where he and Dean are joined, where Dean’s hungry hole sucks his dick back in every time he pulls out.

It’s too much.

“Dean, I’m—“

He doesn’t get the rest of it out. He rolls his orgasm into Dean, biting down on the back of his neck to keep his sounds to himself.

Dean follows soon after, spurting onto the carpet and, crap, Castiel is going to have to clean that up before it stains.

Or maybe he’ll just let Dean collapse below him and pull him back down on top of him.

“Holy shit,” Dean laughs.

“Good?” Castiel pants against him.

“Yeah, man,” Dean wraps his arms around Cas’ shoulders and presses a kiss to his cheek. “You’re a hell of a fuck.”

They put themselves back together just like they did this afternoon, propping the window open and crawling into Castiel’s bed again. Dean has this happy, glazed over smile on his face that makes Castiel’s heart very happy.

Castiel almost reaches out and pulls Dean in close to him, but he stops short. He doesn’t want to ruin the moment, and if he tries to tuck them together there is a ninety-nine percent chance that Dean will pull away and roll over.

Castiel brings his hands up to Dean’s hair, damp with sweat, and rubs his fingers into his scalp.

Dean sighs softly, contentedly.

Thank god this is okay.

“Feels nice,” Dean yawns.

Castiel likes making Dean feel nice.

**oo**

They go again.

It’s a little past midnight when Dean flips Castiel on his back and sinks down onto him. They go so slow that Castiel thinks it may last forever, but inevitably he comes inside Dean for the third time that day, and Dean comes all over Castiel’s stomach. It’s hot and sticky and Castiel’s brain throbs hard in his skull, but that’s okay. It’s all okay because he’s never felt better

Even though there’s a big mess on his stomach.

Castiel draws his finger through it and stares curiously at it.

“You like being covered in my come?” Dean grins against him, pressing his lips to the tip of Cas’ nose.

“I haven’t decided,” Castiel states. He’s still inside Dean, going soft. He thinks he may actually be done for the night, but his libido has been anything but predictable when it comes to Dean Winchester.

Castiel lets Dean kiss him again, shuddering as he clenches around him.

They jump when Castiel’s phone starts buzzing on his bedside table.

Castiel makes a grab for it and rolls his eyes when Gabriel’s name comes up on the screen.

“I happen to be busy right now,” Castiel snarks upon answering.

“I don’t give a shit, Castiel,” comes Kali’s voice from the other end of the line. “Come get your brother before I leave him on the front steps of a fire station.”

“Is everything all right?” Castiel pushes himself up on his elbow. Dean pulls off of him at that and sits back against the wall.

“Your dipshit brother passed out in my kitchen and nobody here will take him home,” Kali explains.  “I’m not spending my Sunday morning scrubbing his vomit out of the grout in my bathroom.”

“Nobody’s asking you to,” Castiel frowns.

“Castiel, I am asking you nicely,” Kali reiterates, “Please come get your brother. Do not make me ask you again.”

She hangs up and Castiel continues to frown at his phone.

“What’s up?” Dean asks.

“I have to go pick up Gabriel from Kali’s,” Cas sighs. “Would you mind giving me a ride?”

“Yeah no problem,” Dean stifles a yawn against the back of his wrist and runs his hand through his hair. He looks about as fucked out as Castiel feels.

They redress and shuffle down to the Winchester house. They don’t say much, but that’s okay too. Castiel is just happy to be with Dean right now, even if they have to go scrape Gabriel off of Kali’s kitchen floor.

Kali’s house is filled to the brim, as usual. Most of the upperclassmen from school are here from what Castiel can see, and as a result he finds himself sticking closer to Dean. Dean is a far more imposing force than he is, and can clear them a path to Kali fairly quickly.

“Where is he?” Dean asks her before Castiel can even announce their arrival.

“Dean,” Kali sizes him up. “Fancy seeing you here. Are you looking for the world’s biggest pain in the ass?”

“Let’s not compare pains in the ass right now,” Dean says pointedly, and the tops of Castiel’s ears go red.

“Gabriel is over here,” she beckons them forward with a finger and leads them to the edge of the kitchen, to a little door that connects to the laundry room. Gabriel is sacked out against the washing machine, sandwiched between hard metal and the wall.

“Holy shit,” Dean squats in front of him. “You didn’t wanna put him on a bed or the couch or something?”

“All other rooms are occupied,” Kali shrugs. “And have you ever tried to lift him?”

Dean sends her a scowl, which she ignores in favor of returning to the party.

“Fuckin’ bitch,” Dean mutters, and Castiel hits him lightly on the shoulder.

“Let’s just get him to the car,” he says and grabs one of Gabriel’s hands.

He almost drops it instantly.

“Dean,” his voice hops up half an octave. “Dean, something’s not right.”

Dean’s brows crunch and he studies Gabriel closely. Though it’s dark in this corner of the house, Castiel can tell he’s much more pale than usual.

“Hey,” Dean snaps his fingers in front of Gabriel’s face. There’s no reaction, so Dean leans in close to his ear and shouts, “Gabe!”

Nothing.

“Ground Control to Major Novak, come in Major Novak!”

Dean punctuates this one with a slap, which doesn’t even get a nervous reaction.

“Holy shit, he’s cold.”

“Shit,” Castiel’s nerves spike. “Cold?”

“Well, not like, _dead_ cold, but sure as hell not fuckin’ healthy,” Dean peers back out to the kitchen. “Grab me a spoon.”

Castiel’s heart hammers, but he complies. He rifles through Kali’s kitchen drawers until he finds a tablespoon and quickly returns it to Dean.

He holds it under Gabriel’s nose.

“Oh, my God,” Castiel realizes the implication. “Dean, what the hell?”

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Dean puts up a placating hand. “He’s breathing, it’s just really slow. C’mon, help me get him up.”

Between the two of them they can hoist Gabriel to his feet. They’re both taller than him, though, which makes carrying him out to the car significantly more awkward.

There’s nothing in Gabriel’s face, no flicker behind his eyelids or strange faces he makes when he falls asleep inebriated.

“Keep his head up,” Dean instructs. “And his air passages unblocked.”

Again, Castiel does as told.

It’s not until they’re at the car that he realizes his mantra of _‘ohfuckohfuckohfuck’_ did not stay in his head like he’d meant it to do.

“Cas!” Dean exclaims, putting his hands on Castiel’s shoulders. He looks stern, but calm, and even though it doesn’t calm Castiel all that much, it does make him stop chanting.

“We gotta get him to the hospital,” says Dean.

“W-we should call an ambulance then, right?” Castiel’s breath won’t come in his lungs all the way.

“Fuck it, I’ll drive,” Dean shakes his head. “You stay in back with him, okay? Keep him propped up.”

Castiel nods, because if he speaks he’s going to start rambling on all this nonsense because _he does not know what’s happening and it’s best if he just keeps his mouth shut and lets Dean handle this._

He just holds onto Gabriel’s wrist with one hand and makes sure his head doesn’t loll to the sides with the other.

“You’re in deep shit,” he finally says. “You’re in the deepest amount of fucking shit regardless of whether or not you wake up, Gabriel.”

He lifts one of Gabriel’s eyelids and swallows hard. It looks dead. Dean said he’s breathing, but this eyeball looks like a dead eyeball.

Castiel’s pulse  beats out a cacophonous rhythm in his ears, thumping and pumping so hard over the sheer terror that spikes through the gooey red walls of his heart.

A car passes by, its headlights illuminating the inside of the Impala.

Gabriel’s pupils constrict.

 _Oh thank God_.

“Hey, uh,” Dean clears his throat. “Not that I want to reign down unholy hellfire, but… I think you gotta call your parents, man.”

Dean is right.

Dean is usually right about a lot of things.

Castiel does not want Dean to be right about this.

“You want me to do it?” he offers. “Believe me, I’ve told people worse.”

 Castiel doesn’t doubt it, but no. No, it’s not Dean’s place to do that.

Castiel grabs his phone out of his pocket and dials the home phone, guts going watery as he holds the phone shakily against his ear.

His mom answers, her voice groggy, “Castiel? Are you okay?”

“Hi, mom,” Castiel swallows hard. “Um, I’m fine, but… it’s Gabriel. I had to pick him up from a party and, uh. He’s not really conscious because he drank way too much and so, Dean and I are taking him to the hospital.”

“Oh Lord,” she breathes on the other end of the line. “—hold _on_ , honey—Castiel, just hang on, okay? We’ll be there as soon as we can.”

The emergency room at the hospital is surprisingly busy.

And then Castiel remembers, _yes, Saturday nights, people are idiots_ , and there is hardly anything surprising about the numerous calamities they see, all caused by drunken escapades.

Mom and dad almost get there at exactly the same time as Dean and Castiel, the both of them still in their pajamas. While the nurses gently guide Gabriel onto a stretcher, dad busies himself with filling out paperwork, and mom pulls Castiel against her chest.

It’s not because she’s particularly glad to see him, he knows, but rather she’s hoping that by hugging Castiel the love and healing energy she puts into it will be transmitted to Gabriel.

Castiel wishes so, so badly that this was the case.

“Well,” says dad as soon as he’s freed from the paperwork. “Did you know where your brother was going tonight?”

Castiel nods.

“And you didn’t think to stop him?”

“This isn’t the first time I’ve had to pick him up from a party,” Castiel replies.

He just didn’t consider that it could be the last time, either.

It looks like dad wants to say something, but it gets stuck in his throat as soon as his eyes settle on Dean.

“Dean drove me, dad,” Castiel inserts quickly. It occurs to him then that their general state of dress is a dead giveaway—their sex-mussed hair and their stained t-shirts, and, _lord_ , the series of bite marks on both of their necks—only an idiot wouldn’t be able to put it together.

“Then he can drive you right back home,” is all dad says, and for a minute Dean and Castiel stare at each other, bewildered.

Mom shares in their bewilderment, because _she can see it_.

But maybe everything is _so not about this_ right now, and instead about Gabriel and _are they really going to lose another one_.

“Honey,” mom says, though, and reaches out a hand to squeeze Castiel’s shoulder. “You should really listen to dad. There’s nothing you can do here now.”

“But—no!” Castiel exclaims. “I don’t want to leave until I know he’s okay.”

And his unspoken threat of, _‘And if he’s not okay I will just have to burn down the building’_ hangs heavy in the back of his mind.

“Castiel,” dad sighs, exasperated. “Go home. Anna shouldn’t be alone.”

“Then why the hell did you leave her?!” Castiel shouts back. Dean rests his hand on his shoulder, but no comfort comes. “Because it would be harder to pretend nothing happened that way?”

“Castiel, do not _shout_ ,” mom casts worried glances at the people around them.   

“C’mon,” Dean hums softly. “They’re right, you should go home.”

That’s the last thing Castiel wants to hear, but he knows Dean’s right.

Damn it.

Without saying goodbye to his parents, Castiel turns to walk out of the emergency room, not even sure if Dean’s following behind him. There’s just… red. There’s red in his vision and flames licking the sides of his face. He can feel his hands turn to fists, feels acid poised and ready to spit at the first opportunity.

“Cas?” comes Dean’s voice behind him.

“Who the fuck do they think they are?” he shouts, and whips around to face Dean in the orange hue of the parking lot lights.

“Cas,” Dean sighs then. “June and Ward Cleaver vibe aside, they’re right. You couldn’t do anything if you stayed.”

Castiel winces, because his parents’ names are _not_ June or Ward.

“Leave it to Beaver? Ah, fuck it,” Dean brushes it off and interlocks his fingers over the top of his head. “Cas, you know I’m all for subverting authority and stickin’ it to the man, but—”

“They’re just going to pretend this never happened,” Castiel snaps. “Whatever happens, it’s going to be the same, because it’s _always_ the same.”

“Whoa, slow down,” Dean takes a tentative step forward. “What’s the same?”

“This family’s complete lack of ability to handle problems,” Castiel scowls, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Whatever—” his voice cracks, and so he takes a moment to compose himself. Dean just watches him closely.

“Whatever happens here tonight,” he continues. “We’ll never talk about it again. It’ll happen the same way it did with Lucifer. What happens will happen, and then we’ll all be expected to move on without so much as acknowledging it.”

He can still remember the days following Lucifer’s death, when the house was silent. The floorboards stopped creaking, and even the wind stopped rustling through the curtains, as though it knew there was one fewer spirit in the house.

“They’d rather pretend that bad things don’t happen than accept that they do,” Castiel frowns.

“Beats the hell out of them pretending the bad shit is all there is,” Dean offers.

“I’m not so sure it is, Dean,” Castiel returns, a little too harshly for how he normally speaks to Dean, but he’s angry and he can’t quite help it. “Because if they’d once had the decency to be up front with us and have adult conversations with us, maybe we wouldn’t be so terrified all the time. Once, just once, it would have been such a relief for someone to tell me that it was okay to be upset, or sad, or fucking _angry_ about what happened, but I got nothing. None of us did. We were supposed to just… _pray it away_.”

“Shit,” Dean manages to reply.

“Tell a ten year old to pray away feelings he doesn’t even understand,” Castiel’s voice cracks again, and tears prick at the back of his eyes. “Doesn’t work when he likes dick, why the hell would it work when he’s sad?”

He mops up a stray tear that rolls down his cheek.

“And now my brother is going to die because no one took the time to realize just how badly he was feeling,” he lets out a disbelieving laugh. “Me included.”

“Dude,” Dean moves a little closer to him. “None of this is your fault. You drew a shitty hand as far as parents go, okay? It happens. Gabriel’s gonna be fine, though. I’ve seen much worse before, they’ll probably just pump his stomach and put him on a drip or something. Trust me.”

Castiel sniffs hard, because he does.

He does trust Dean.

“Okay,” he nods.

“C’mere,” Dean holds out his arms, and Castiel steps into them.

Dean pressed so warm and solid against him makes his heart go all syrupy. It’s a relief, a release of the tension that has made its home in Castiel’s muscles these last couple of hours.

And to think that the night started off so nicely.

“Can I take you home now?” Dean asks.

“If you promise to stay with me,” Castiel mumbles into his chest.

A beat passes before Dean agrees, “Of course I will.”


	14. What it's Like to be a Loon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Is it wrong to understand  
> The fear that dwells inside a man  
> What's it like to be a loon  
> I liken it to a balloon"
> 
> Cosmic Dancer - T. Rex
> 
>  **TW:** Lots of depression/mental health talk and mentions of self-destructive behavior and suicidal thoughts

_It’s fuzzy around the edges, the light streaming in through the living room curtains glowing softly in a halo around his parents’ heads._

_Gabriel hadn’t thought it unreasonable, to ask if he could skip church._

_“Why on earth would you want to do something like that?”_

_“I don’t know… I don’t like going.”_

_This had perplexed his parents._

_“Lucifer doesn’t have to go.”_

_“Lucifer has made his views known,” said dad. “He’s made a decision, and he’s decided to put his immortal soul in jeopardy. As your father and protector, I cannot allow you to make that same decision.”_

_“Why not?”_

_“You’re a child, Gabriel,” mom said. “And as parents, it’s our job to make sure you’re taken care of and doing the right thing.”_

_“But I hate church,” Gabriel wrinkled his nose. “It’s stuffy and hot and everyone smells like mothballs—what! They do!”_

_“You’re willing to put your soul in Hell for all eternity because of a stuffy room?” asked dad._

_“Honey—“_

_“No, he’s old enough,” dad held up his hand. “He needs to know that there are consequences to every decision he makes, and in this case that’s Hell. I don’t make the rules.”_

_“You’re scaring him.”_

_“Good!” dad insisted. “Rightly so, he should be terrified. The sooner he grasps this, the sooner he’ll get these idiotic notions out of his head.”_

_“But—“_

_“If you’re not old enough to understand the consequences, you’re not old enough to make the decision.”_

_“I’m old enough to understand that you’re an asshole.”_

_That had been the wrong thing to say._

_He’d stormed up to his room, ten years old and righteously pissed off for the first time in his life._

_Grounded for a whole month._

_No dessert, no TV, no nothing._

_Up in his room, there was only Lucifer. He’d just started growing out his hair then, blonde barely scraping the tops of his ears._

_He had his guitar in his lap and was strumming out something Gabriel had never heard. He barely even flinched when Gabriel had slammed the door and flopped down belly-first onto his and Castiel’s bed._

_Castiel was at youth group, Raph had basketball practice, and Michael was a counselor for Castiel’s youth group. It was just Gabriel and Lucifer in their room that day._

_That was how Gabriel preferred it, most days._

_“What’s got your undies in a bunch?”_

_“How come you get to do whatever you want?” Gabriel flopped onto his back, glaring angrily at the star stickers he and Castiel had stuck on the baseboard years before._

_“Because I am liberated,” Lucifer had replied, not breaking from the song he was playing. “You know ‘liberated’ yet?”_

_“I know ‘liberal’,” Gabriel said. “Mom and dad don’t like that.”_

_“Yeah, well, mom and dad don’t like a lot of things,” Lucifer hit a sour note and picked up a pencil, noting on a sheet of music what he’d done wrong. “Sooner you learn that, the better off you’ll be.”_

_“I don’t wanna go to church, but they’re making me,” Gabriel pouted._

_“What’d they say?” Lucifer looked up, ready to pounce. Gabriel sat up and crossed his legs in front of himself, offering a shrug._

_“I’m not old enough to make that decision.”_

_“Well, that’s a load and a half of bullshit,” Lucifer sets down his guitar and comes to sit on the bed beside Gabriel. “If something doesn’t feel right, then don’t beat yourself over the head until it does. Mom and dad, they see the world as this or that, black or white, but in reality the world’s in grayscale. You know what grayscale is?”_

_Gabriel shook his head._

_“It’s like black and white movies,” Lucifer explained. “There’s black and there’s white, but there’s all these different shades of gray in between that make up the picture. If we just saw the black parts and the white parts, we wouldn’t see the whole picture. Make sense?”_

_Gabriel nodded, because for the first time in his life, yes. Something made sense._

_“I knew I liked you,” Lucifer gave him a smile and patted him on the shoulder. “Just because mom and dad believe something doesn’t mean you have to. You’ve got a brain in your head, you can think for yourself.”_

_He stood back up and grabbed his guitar. With the strap over his shoulder and the pick between his teeth, he started testing the tune of the strings. He could do it by ear and it was absolutely perfect every time._

_“You’re good,” said Gabriel, slightly awed, as he always had been by his big brother._

_“The best,” Lucifer gave him a cheeky wink, and then started playing an upbeat tune, which Gabriel would one day come to recognize as the Rolling Stones. He knew the song had words, but Lucifer didn’t sing them this time._

_“Know how I got so good?” he asked. Gabriel shook his head. “Every time I wanna go postal, I come up here and I play.”_

“I rode a tank, held a generals rank,” _he sang_ , “when the blitzkrieg raged and the bodies stank. ”

 _A faint beep sounded, and for a moment Gabriel thought the timer on the oven downstairs was up_.

_He can hear his parents argue somewhere in the distance._

_“Pleased to meet you,”_ –BEEP— _“Won’t you guess my name?” –_ BEEP.

 _Lucifer kept singing,_ “But what’s troublin’ you is the,” _–“there are a lot of reasons we’re here right now, but blaming me doesn’t solve anything”—_ “Nature of my game.”

“ _—your responsibility, you know that!”_

Gabriel’s eyes flutter open at the cacophony that brings him into wakefulness.

Everything around him is white and cold, and it smells sterile.

His vision blurs in and out of focus, the argument jumbles around in his ears, punctuated by what he now realizes is his own heartbeat sounding on the monitor.

And all he wants to do is shut his eyes again and sleep for the next ten years.

The argument ceases.

“Honey, will you give me a minute?”

“Absolutely not, you’ll only make it all worse.”

“Let me rephrase,” mom says. “I will be speaking with Gabriel, alone.”

The ceiling is still blurry, but thankfully that doesn’t impede his ability to crack a smile.

The door to the room opens and shuts loudly.

A chair scrapes across the floor.

Gabriel looks over and sees his mother, dressed in her pajama bottoms and an overcoat, her arms crossed over her chest.

“So I am in hell,” he concludes.

“Do you really think I won’t smack you just because you’re in a hospital bed?” mom asks. “Because I’ll tell you, after the night I had, you’re lucky I haven’t reached over there and pulled out your beating heart myself.”

“That’s… vivid,” Gabriel shuts his eyes and scrubs his face. There’s an IV in his hand, and it pinches like hell when he moves the wrong way.

Images of Lucifer still flash in the forefront of his mind.

Lucifer alive, not Lucifer the ghost.

 _“Don’t worry_ ,” _he’d said as they’d gone downstairs for dinner that night._ _“You and me? We’ll get out of here one day.”_

Oh, shit.

Right now? He had to remember that right fucking now?

_“Swear,” Gabriel had demanded._

_Lucifer had given him this look (one that even in memory sends chills up Gabriel’s spine) and stuck out his hand._

_“I promise.”_

And then the fucker left without him.

Gabriel chokes back the sob he knows is just begging to come out. He’s in the fucking hospital, for Christ’s sake. He’s not taking another blow to his ego and crying on top of it too.

“Castiel said this isn’t the first time this has happened,” says mom.

“Depends on what _this_ is,” Gabriel stares straight up at the ceiling, his heart rate increasing slightly.

“You watch your tone, young man,” Mom snaps. “And you be grateful to whomever or whatever you believe in that your liver functions are all normal, because that right there is the very definition of a miracle.”

Gabriel’s eyes flutter shut and he draws in a deep breath.

“Can you possibly wait to berate me until I’m not in an assless white gown?” he asks.

“I’m not berating,” she corrects herself to a less predatory posture. “We’ll leave that to your father. Lord knows he’ll do it even if I tell him not to.”

“Thanks.”

“He just doesn’t understand,” she says. “I don’t understand. Sweetheart, what could have possessed you—”

“I don’t know,” Gabriel cuts her off. “I just did it.”

What the hell is he supposed to say? His friends drink, so he drinks. His parents hate his friends, have always warned him not to hang around with them, but he does it anyway, because he likes his friends.

Or maybe he doesn’t.

He’s not sure anymore.

“Gabriel, whatever it is, you can tell me,” she says. “I won’t judge, you won’t get in trouble… I just want to know, please.”

“Only if you tell me why the hell you’re boozing up left and right,” Gabriel snaps back. Mom at least looks a little stunned by this, and she straightens her spine.

Neither says anything for a few minutes, which leaves Gabriel staring awkwardly out the window behind his mom.

“I admit,” she says then, “That I haven’t been the best example. And perhaps I know that I’ve had a problem for a long time.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Gabriel sits up slightly. He’s woozy as fuck, but he doesn’t care. The fire in the pit of his stomach will fuel him. “If you knew you had a problem, why the fuck wouldn’t you do something about it?”

“Probably for the same reason you didn’t do something about yours,” she arches her fair brows high on her forehead, and Gabriel’s stomach immediately plummets. “It was easier not to.”

His brow falls, and he looks his mom dead in the eyes.

“Or, maybe it’s because I knew nobody would listen to me,” he counters.

Mom’s face clouds with something Gabriel hasn’t seen in a very long time—not since the night she got the call from the police. Not since she flipped on the nightly news and saw the green ’71 Pinto accordioned around a telephone pole five miles away.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

Gabriel pauses.

“What?”

“Well, don’t sit there with your mouth hanging open, you’ll catch flies.”

Parents aren’t supposed to apologize to their kids, though, and especially not his parents. There’s a hierarchy in the home: children obey their parents, women obey their husbands, and men obey God.

God doesn’t apologize to His children; parents don’t apologize to theirs.

“What’s the catch?” he asks.

“Gabriel, there’s no catch,” mom rolls her eyes, exhausted. “After Lucifer’s accident I prayed and prayed and _prayed_ that God watch over you so that I would never have to go through a loss like that again. I prayed that I would never cause any of my other children the pain that I caused Lucifer. I am… devastated that this is the end result of that.”

Gabriel raises his eyebrow.

There is no catch, allegedly.

But he’s tired and weak and he just wants to _sleep_ , quite possibly forever. “Did you ever think that maybe instead of praying for that you could’ve just… tried doing that on your own? Y’know, without the whole hoodoo thing behind it?”

She reaches over and smacks him on the back of the head.

“Mom!”

“Relax, the only thing you didn’t come in here with was a concussion,” she says. “So help me, I’ll give you one if you keep talking like that.”

“I can still call CPS, y’know,” Gabriel frowns. “I’m laid up and you’re taking me out to the woodshed.”

“Something tells me you’ll be fine, with the attitude you’re copping right now.”

Gabriel frowns and sits all the way up. It gives him a little head rush but it’s nothing he can’t handle. Mom just looks at him like he’s back from the dead, as though he’s risen again for some holy and divine purpose.

He looks down at his palms. No stigmata, but he is kind of scraped up from where he vaguely remembers falling over himself on Kali’s driveway.

“Honey, whatever sort of help you need,” mom grabs his hand, assuming the palm up gesture is an invitation to take it. “I want to make sure you get it—that we get it.”

“I want to go to pastry school,” is the first thing that comes out of his mouth.

Oh… well, great. Now that’s out there too.

Mom pauses for a few moments before she nods and lets herself smile for the first time since she’s been here. Her hand comes to rest on his cheek, and she says, “I think that would be wonderful, sweetheart.”

She leans over and presses a kiss to his sweaty forehead.

Gabriel throws his arms around her neck and buries his face in her graying blonde hair. She smells just the same as she always has, like her drugstore shampoo and her lotion.

He realizes just how long it’s been since he’s been close enough to recognize it.

“Oh, honey,” she hums and shifts so that she’s sitting on the bed.

Gabriel hugs her tighter.

“I hate it here,” he hears himself confess. “I hate everything about it.”

Mom’s only response is to hug him tighter.

**oo**

Gabriel stares down at the prescription in his hands. Furled up at the corners from nervous rolling and unrolling, the paper denotes something he thinks he’s known for a long time.

 _Zoloft, 100 mg, one tab by mouth daily_.

Dad’s been bitching non-stop about _quick fixes_ and _not solving the problem_ ever since Dr. Barnes handed him the script.

_“We’ll follow up in about six weeks,” she said. “You be sure to call if you notice anything out of the ordinary, we’ll get you in here and adjust.”_

“Next,” calls the young pharmacy technician behind the counter, and Gabriel looks up. She has these bright fuchsia scrubs on under her lab coat and a broad smile. Mom puts her hand on his shoulder and guides him up to the counter with her.

He’s almost eighteen, and here he is with his mom pushing him along like it’s his first day of kindergarten.

The technician punches his information into the system, his mom lays down his insurance card and asks if they can speak with the pharmacist when the medication is ready.

Gabriel sits beside her as they wait.

The chairs are standard hospital variety, teal and uncomfortable.

“It smells like death in here,” Gabriel mumbles, and mom hits him on the arm. “What! It does. Old people and medical grade hand sanitizer: death.”

“Behave,” she clips, and Gabriel sinks lower into his seat.

Medication.

He’s so fucked up that a stranger thinks he needs medication.

_“Think of it like this,” said Dr. Barnes. “If you were a diabetic, you wouldn’t think twice about taking insulin.”_

He knows that she’s right.

Knowing that doesn’t make it any less bothersome.

“Honey,” mom lays a comforting hand on his shoulder. “You’re going to be all right.”

“It’s just a quick fix,” Gabriel parrots his dad, staring dejectedly at the antihistamines lining the shelves nearest to him.

“It’s a step,” she says, and holds up the pamphlet Dr. Barnes gave her before she released him. “You’re starting a process.”

Gabriel groans and sinks even lower.

“I hate processes,” he sighs. “They’re laborious.”

“Tough,” she comments back, tone firm and eyes fixed on the pamphlet. “That’s as close as I’m coming to losing another child.”

Gabriel grunts, but makes no other response. It’s twenty minutes of just _sitting_ there, watching hoards of the infirmed and the elderly pick up their prescriptions at the counter.

He witnesses nearly half a dozen cantankerous old fucks insist that _they do not have to pay that much for medication, check again, that is ridiculous, where is your manager, you can’t charge me that much for something I need to stay alive._

“Don’t you ever just want people like that to get hit by a bus,” he mutters.

“Of course,” mom sighs, as though they’ve talked about this numerous times. “Judgment isn’t part of my contract, though. That’s up to God and His angels.”

Gabriel grunts again.

When the pharmacist finally calls his name, he sort of zones out. He’s not supposed to drink with these, she says, and okay, it’s just ridiculous to set up unrealistic expectations. You don’t do it with exercise or diet, why in god’s name would you do it with booze?

“Because it could aggravate your symptoms,” the pharmacist explains, the unspoken _‘and you’re only seventeen’_ hanging heavy in the air between them.

Gabriel snatches the paper bag from her, as though she is responsible for this egregious wrong visited upon him, that it’s her fault that the laws of chemistry and physiology act as they do.

Dad’s waiting in the car as soon as they get to the parking lot, making annotations in the Bible he keeps in the glove compartment.

He doesn’t speak for the entire drive home.

Mom tries to make polite conversation, but they are grouchy and tired and now the parents of a depressed teenager.

Or, rather, they’re now aware that they’re the parents of a depressed teenager.

The house is quiet when they get home, except for where Anna watches cartoons in the living room. She looks over her shoulder and frowns when she sees mom and dad and Gabriel walk through the door.

“What’s going on?” she asks.

“Nothing,” dad insists.

“I was in the hospital,” Gabriel explains. Anna gasps and leaps to her feet, Froot Loops sloshing over the sides of her bowl.

“Why?” she asks. “What happened?”

“Gabriel, upstairs,” dad commands.

“Nothin’ a good ol’ stomach pump and some happy pills won’t fix,” Gabriel pats his stomach. Anna’s eyes go big and watery, but she sets down her bowl and comes forward to wrap her skinny arms around Gabriel’s middle.

“She doesn’t need to know that, Gabriel,” dad scowls.

“Were you sick?”

“Yeah, but I’m all better,” he reassures her. She’s getting tall, and will probably be tall just like their brothers. He bends down and kisses the top of her head.

“You’re not allowed to get that sick,” she frowns against him. “Jerk.”

“Anna!” mom chastises before dad gets the opportunity.

“ _Gabriel_ ,” dad snaps. “Get upstairs before I drag you up there myself.”

Gabriel rolls his eyes, because even if he’s sick he can still be a pain in the ass, thank you very much. He gives Anna one final wink before he pulls himself up the stairs. It’s the same staircase he’s climbed damn near every day of his life, and yet this morning it feels like he’s scaling Mount Everest.

It doesn’t occur to him that he could be interrupting anything when he opens the door to his bedroom.

When he sees Castiel tangled up on his bed with Dean wrapped around him, and sees that he has not in fact disrupted anything, he wonders just how in the hell that’s possible.

But there they are, precious baby queers that they are, fully clothed, alone in a bed.

Cuddling.

Ugh, this is not how he raised these two to behave.

And yet it’s the most relaxed he’s ever seen his brother. Even in sleep, that kid looks like a tax attorney. And he doesn’t think he’s ever known Dean to be the cuddly type, even if he does occasionally let Gabriel fall asleep on him when they’re drunk.

Gabriel sets his Zoloft on the dresser and goes over to Cas’ bed.

He shakes the bunk frame, jolting both Dean and Cas out of sleep.

“Gabriel!” Castiel exclaims as soon as he registers what’s happening.

Gabriel’s only response is to crawl into the bed, on top of both Dean and Castiel until they adjust and sort of get him in the middle.

  
“I need love too,” Gabriel declares.

“You also need a fuckin’ shower,” Dean mutters.

“What happened?” Cas sits up, dark brows knit low with concern.

“Drank too much,” Gabriel shrugs.

“Obviously,” Cas rolls his eyes. “I didn’t think they’d release you so soon.”

“Just some booze,” Gabriel yawns. “They flushed my plumbing, tuned me back up. No big deal.”

“And they let you go, just like that?” Cas raises an eyebrow. “Alcohol poisoning four years under the legal drinking age and they just let you go?”

_Dr. Barnes had asked mom to step out of the room before she pulled up a stool and gave Gabriel a comforting smile. “That was one hell of a bender you went on, kiddo,” she glanced at his chart before setting it aside. “Wanna tell me what happened?”_

_Gabriel shrugged._

_“You don’t strike me as a dumb kid, Gabriel,” Dr. Barnes had continued. “You have to understand that what you did was dangerous, and that you’re lucky your brother brought you in when he did.”_

_“My brother brought me here?” Gabriel asked, heart squeezing in his chest because Cas… Cas didn’t know if he was okay or not. He cleared his throat, “Not the first time he’s had to scrape me off the floor of a social event.”_

_“This goes beyond social drinking, even for a kid your age,” Dr. Barnes raised her eyebrow. “I think you know that.”_

_Gabriel shifted in his bed._

_“Whatever the reason, you can tell me,” she’d said. “I want to help you, Gabriel.”_

_“Why?” Gabriel frowned._

_Why would anyone want to help him?_

_“Not even like I’m worth helping.”_

“Yup,” Gabriel nods. “Just let me go.”

“What’s in the bag?” asks Dean, gazing sleepily at the brown paper bag on the dresser.

“Oh,” Gabriel clears his throat. “Them’s my happy pills.”

“Happy pills?” Cas’ eyebrows fly up now.

“Uh, yeah,” Gabriel shifts as Dean yawns and rolls over. He slings his arm over Gabriel’s stomach and nuzzles his shoulder. “Sorry, I think I just stole your boyfriend.”

“I like a man with curves,” Dean supplies. “The other one’s stringy.”

“Thanks, Dean,” Cas rolls his eyes and turns his attention back to Gabriel. “Did the doctor put you on antidepressants?”

“She did,” Gabriel yawns now.

Castiel is silent for a few moments before he nods, “I’m glad she gave you something that could help.”

Another chunk of silence, punctured only by Dean’s snores.

Castiel asks then, “Why’d you do it?”

“Why does everyone keep asking that?” Gabriel groans. “It’s not like I did it on purpose. I just went to the party and no one was really talking to me, so I… just drank, I guess. And kept drinking.”

“Until you passed out?” asks Castiel.

“I think I blacked out before I passed out,” Gabriel yawns again. “Goddamn, how do you sleep with this kid? He’s like a fucking space heater.”

“You’d be surprised at what I’m willing to do for a guy with a nice dick,” Castiel comes back, so dry that Gabriel swears he can feel his skin shrivel and crack.

“Aw, come on,” Gabriel wrinkles his nose.

“I do have a pretty nice dick,” Dean murmurs into his shoulder. “It just has that effect on people.”

“Oh, is that what brought down the walls at Jericho?” asks Gabriel, and Castiel snorts.

His unsettlingly blue eyes fixate on Gabriel, and after a beat he admits, “I thought you were gone.”

Gabriel sighs and looks up at the baseboards above them.

“I’d kinda hoped I was.”

He wants to be annoyed that this makes Castiel shift down and hug him on the other side, but he can’t find it in himself. He’s sandwiched between the only two friends he’s got, on a twin mattress.

He doesn’t know how they all manage to fit, but he’s sort of glad that they do.

**oo**

It’s a week before Gabriel notices any semblance of change.

It starts out small, with putting on clean underwear every day and taking showers regularly, and graduates to him actually remembering to and studying for an exam.

It’s easier to get out of bed in the morning, easier to crack wise, to laugh, to shower his baby sister with the attention she deserves.

He doesn’t know that he’s ever been this on top of his game.

When he starts feeling that all-too familiar chill in the air, he realizes that Lucifer knows this too. Lucifer’s never actually gone, after all, just lurking.

Christ, it’s eleven at night; all he wants is a sandwich. He’s not Haley Joel, or Nicole Kidman, he’s just Gabriel, and nowhere has it ever said that Gabriel fraternizes with ghosts. 

“Hey, little brother,” Lucifer pops up on the counter as Gabriel lays out a spread of lettuce on his sandwich.

“Damn it, Lucifer!” Gabriel clutches his chest. “What the hell?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Lucifer gives a bored sigh. “I thought we went over this.”

“Fuck you,” Gabriel frowns. “I never signed on for anything like that.”

“Gabriel,” Lucifer gives him this look. It’s that same look Castiel gives, with the wide eyes and soft lines that, in Castiel’s case, imply actual empathy.

Lucifer knows that this is what this face says, and thus makes it regardless of whether or not this is what he’s actually feeling.

“You know mom and dad aren’t going to let you stay here,” he says, even though Gabriel has since turned his attention back to his sandwich. “And that Castiel is going off to college in a couple years. There’s not going to be a whole lot for you to stick around for.”

“Yeah,” Gabriel turns to him, “That doesn’t mean I should off myself, you raging fuck-hole.”

“Gabriel?”

Lucifer disappears just as mom shuffles into the kitchen, bathrobe swaddled tightly around her as she rubs the sleep from her eyes.

“Who’re you talking to, honey?”

“No one,” Gabriel shakes his head, and winces when whatever the hell Lucifer is right now pulls his hair.

“Your meds aren’t making you whacky, are they?” she asks.

Gabriel shakes his head.

“It’s good to see you so spirited,” she hums and lays a comforting hand on his cheek. “And I’m so, so proud of you.”

Gabriel shifts in his spot, “Jeez, mom, how much Dr. Phil can you watch?”

“You’ve inspired me,” she continues, barb aside. “Did you know there’s an Alcoholics Anonymous group that meets at the community center?”

“I did not,” Gabriel shakes his head.

“Well, there is,” she pulls a mug down from the cabinet and fills it with water. She pops it in the microwave and rifles through the tea drawer for her Sleepytime. “I’m going to start going.”

“Oh,” Gabriel’s brows crunch together. “Uh, that’s great, mom.”

“I’d like it if you came with me.”

And this is back to being not so great.

“Gabriel, it’s important that we identify the source of this, for both of us,” she says.

“Yeah, but it’s Alcoholics _Anonymous_ ,” he specifies. “You’re not supposed to know the people you listen to, that’s the whole point. I’m not gonna want to share if you’re there, and god only knows why you’d want to share with me there.”

“Because, like I said, I think it’s important,” she folds her arms over her chest. “What did I tell you? This is a process, and if you only do the first step you won’t get any better.”

“I’m still not going to AA with you,” Gabriel caps off his sandwich and angrily cuts it in half. He takes a big bite, sighing with relief as his stomach gurgles below, pining for food.

“Then go to another meeting,” she shrugs. “Or, we could find a doctor for you. Gabriel, don’t make that face at me. You have to get some sort of help. I do too! We can do it together, hold each other accountable.”

“Mom,” Gabriel groans.

“Honey, I think you know I couldn’t let you go all the way to New York without knowing you’re at least a little better adjusted.”

Gabriel stops chewing immediately.

“What?” a big fleck of lettuce flies out of his mouth, and his mom scowls at him until he bends to pick it up.

“If you agree to go to regular meetings and get regular help,” she takes a breath, “I have enough of my father’s inheritance to help you pay for pastry school.”

It’s a good thing Gabriel put down his sandwich.

“I—no shit?”

“Language!”

“No fucking kidding?”

“Gabriel!”

But there’s nothing else he can say, nothing else that comes to mind. He flies forward and wraps his arms around his mom, hugging her so tight that she may end up popping if he’s not careful.

The microwave sounds and mom pulls away. Gabriel can only stand dumbstruck as mom drops a bag into her mug and comes back to kiss him on the forehead.

“Think about it,” she hums. “Sweet dreams.”

Gabriel watches her walk all the way up the stairs before Lucifer reappears beside him.

“They’re being way too nice, if you ask me,” he shakes his head. “There’s gotta be a catch.”

“I don’t think there is,” Gabriel lets out a laugh.

“Bullshit,” Lucifer sits back up on the counter. “Mom and dad don’t care about anyone, least of all you. You said so yourself.”

Gabriel doesn’t know if it’s the medication or what, but he’s starting to wonder if that wasn’t just a construct of his own mind, just a way to explain why he felt so shitty.

But mom’s always had a soft spot for him, just like she had for Lucifer. It’s dad who’s the dick, dad who runs this house like his sons should be devout Christian Warriors, like his daughter should be groomed into a wife and mother.

Like his wife should bend to his every whim.

Like they’re all failures if they don’t quite fit the mold.

“Gabe,” Lucifer continues softly. “I promised I’d get you out of here—that I’d get the both of us out of here. Don’t you want that?”

Gabriel looks over at Lucifer.

The echo of Lucifer, rather. His spirit.

His angry, sixteen year old spirit.

“I do,” he nods. “But not the way you want.”

Lucifer’s face falls.

“So what,” he challenges, hopping off the counter. “I’m here all for nothing, that’s it? I stayed behind for you, to make sure you were okay, to get you out of here as soon as I could, because unlike you I’m not a disloyal little prick.”

“Do you even hear yourself when you talk?” Gabriel exclaims. “Christ, you’re telling me to _kill_ myself. That that’s my only way out. Do you not grasp how fucked up that is, or do you have ectoplasm where your brain used to be?”

Lucifer narrows his eyes to slits.

“Just remember,” he says. “Whatever happens, whoever has to go down in the process, it’s on your head.”

He blinks out of the kitchen, leaving Gabriel alone with his sandwich.

“Well,” he mutters to himself. “Looks like Gozer’s awake after all.” 


	15. Fighting Fire with Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Hold tight, wait till the party's over  
> Hold tight, we're in for nasty weather  
> There has got to be a way  
> Burning down the house."
> 
> Burning Down the House - The Talking Heads
> 
> WARNING: Continued talks of self-inflicted death, depression.

Harsh is the morning that comes to a sleep-deprived Castiel, but that’s the price he pays for staying up late exchanging dirty text messages with Dean. For a hot minute, he thinks it might be Monday and has a moment of panic, but then realizes it’s not his alarm that shook him out of sleep, but Gabriel tripping over his own feet as he stumbles out of the room and down the hall.

The bathroom door slams shut, and Castiel checks the time on his phone. Five-thirty on a Sunday and Gabriel is—a retch sounds from down the hall—vomiting his guts out. Excellent.

Castiel stands and pads down the hall. Anna pokes her head out of her bedroom door, rubbing the crust out of her eyes as she joins Castiel outside the bathroom door.

“Gabriel?” Castiel whispers. They’re met with another gag, and the sound of a whole lot of nothing emptying into the toilet.

“What’s happening?” Anna asks.

They hear the toilet flush, and then a gust of ice cold blows through them both. Castiel reaches out an arm to steady Anna just as she does the same to him.

The door opens.

Gabriel gasps for air on the other side, still on the floor, wiping at his mouth with a wad of toilet paper.

“Gabriel?” Anna asks, and he looks over at her. There’s no snark, no faint smile or even hint of humor; whatever gorgon he’s been dodging finally caught up with him, finally left him nothing but cold, hard stone.

“Oh, hey guys,” he replies then, voice still hollow, gurgling in his raw, burnt throat. “What brings you to my morning vomit?”

“Who’s the prom queen who got you pregnant?” asks Anna.

Castiel goes tense for the few moments it takes Gabriel to break out into a smile and then immediately relaxes. Thank God, he thought they might have been in really serious trouble again.

“You think I’m pretty enough for prom queen?” Gabriel asks. “Annabelle of Green Gables that is the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

“Gabriel, are you sick?” asks Castiel, trying to keep the conversation on track.

“Is that Dean’s Black Sabbath shirt?” Gabriel points an exhausted finger at Castiel, and both he and Anna look down at his torso.

“Yes, it is,” Castiel nods. “That doesn’t have anything to do with why you’re puking your guts out before six in the morning.”

“Did he give it to you?” asks Gabriel.

“That is hardly—”

“He is your boyfriend, isn’t he!” Anna spits an irritated whisper at him.

“I cannot be the only one concerned with the actual issue at hand here,” Castiel gestures emphatically at where Gabriel still sits on the floor.

“I’m telling you, it started happening a few days ago,” Gabriel insists again. “It happens whenever I put something in my stomach too soon after I wake up. Dr. Barnes said nausea can be one of the side effects of the meds—“

He burps, but thankfully it’s just air.

“Ugh,” Gabriel slides down and presses his face against the cold tile floor. “That’s good, right there.”

“I think the real question is: why are you putting anything in your stomach at this hour?”

Gabriel remains pointedly silent before he says, “You guys can’t laugh.”

“Okay,” replies Castiel as Anna says, “I don’t make empty promises.”

Castiel nudges her.

“The only reason I even remember to take my pills is because every morning I have to pee at 5:27.”

Castiel and Anna share a look, but say nothing.

“I don’t know why, but that’s the only time I ever remember,” Gabriel continues. “So, I come in here, I pee, I take my meds, and then I go back to sleep. Except the last few days I’ve just been barfing right after.”

Castiel’s brow furrows. That’s certainly suspicious.

“No other time?” he asks, and Gabriel shakes his head.

“I get in bed, and then next thing I know, I’m in here,” Gabriel sits back up. Anna claps her hands over her mouth to keep from screaming; Castiel takes in a sharp breath.

A viscous black sludge pours out of Gabriel’s eyes, twin tracks running down his cheeks.

“ _What the fuck is that?_ ” Castiel’s heart picks up its pace, and Gabriel reaches up to wipe under his eyes.

“I don’t know,” Gabriel mutters. “Maybe it’s an infection or something.”

“You look remarkably well-adjusted for someone who’s leaking black goo out of his eyes,” Castiel points out.

“I wanna see if it clears up on its own,” Gabriel returns and pulls himself up. He rinses his face clean, as though he’d been expecting exactly this. A quick pat of the fluffy yellow hand towel to his face and he stands upright. “I’m going back to bed,” he announces, and he does.

“Castiel, what was that?” Anna steps closer to him.

“I don’t know,” he admits.

**oo**

Gabriel does not fare well through the rest of the day. Everything he puts into his stomach he tosses right back out again. Mom can’t make heads or tails of it—he doesn’t have a fever, doesn’t have body aches or anything that would indicate illness.

He just can’t stop throwing up.

“If you know you’re not feeling well, why do you keep eating?” Dad asks.

“I feel _fine_ ,” Gabriel groans into the toilet bowl. “And then I eat and it all comes back up again.”

“Is this bulimia?” asks mom.

“Honey, please!” Dad exclaims.

“We have to consider all options,” Mom insists very firmly.

“Boys don’t get bulimia,” dad rolls his eyes.

“Nobody _gets_ bulimia,” Castiel explains. “And eating disorders can affect anybody, regardless of sex or gender.”

“Castiel!”

“Sex is not a bad word,” Castiel sighs.

He gets a look from both of his parents at that, and decides it’s not a conversation that they need to have right this instant.

It’s not an eating disorder. Those don’t just develop overnight.

Around midnight, Castiel hears Gabriel’s stomach gurgle from across the room.

“I can’t do this shit,” Gabriel mutters, though he doesn’t seem to be addressing Castiel. “I can’t just sit here and starve, you prick.”

 Castiel cracks an eye open just in time to see Gabriel throw the covers off of himself and storm out of the room, mumbling something about peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. He throws the covers off of himself and decides to follow, padding very carefully over the squeaky floorboards.

Gabriel furiously spreads peanut butter onto a slice of bread while, of course, Lucifer hovers beside him.

“—because I’m fucking starving!”

“You know how to make it stop,” Lucifer shrugs.

Castiel frowns. What the hell is he talking about? He leans in closer, trying to keep out of sight, but he leans in too far and accidentally knocks one of the pictures crooked on the wall.

Gabriel’s attention snaps up, and Castiel can seen concern widen his eyes before the sliding doors into the kitchen quake and slam shut in a cloud of dust.

“Cassie?” Gabriel says from the other side of the doors. “You okay?”

Lucifer appears right beside Castiel then, his lips curling into a grinchy smile, and Castiel clears his throat.

“I’ve been better,” he replies. There’s a quick sound of Gabriel trying to jimmy open the doors, but Lucifer’s not having any of it. He blinks out of view again, and a few seconds later Castiel can hear Gabriel retching up into the kitchen sink.

Lucifer comes back to Castiel then, clucking his tongue and shaking his head.

“Castiel, Castiel, Castiel… what are we going to do with you?” he sighs.

“What are you doing to him,” Castiel demands.

“Call me old fashioned, but,” Lucifer shrugs. “Last time I checked, that was none of your goddamned business.”

“If you’re hurting my brother, it is my business,” Castiel says. He knows he can’t punch Lucifer, like he wants, but hell, if there was just something, anything made out of iron that he could swing…

“Castiel,” Lucifer says then, and Castiel looks up. “You can’t save him. Only I can save him. Only I know how.”

Oh, Castiel does not like the sound of that. By the fireplace he sees the iron poker sitting neatly in its place. He only moves half an inch before something slams him back against the wall and, oh wow, he can’t move. He can’t move what the hell is happening?

“I don’t want to hurt you, little brother,” Lucifer sighs, genuine hurt clouding his face. “Castiel, you— _you_ remembered me. You made sure you didn’t forget. You, Anna, Gabriel, the three of you kept me alive, and I’ll never forget that. But I fully intend on seeing my promise through. Gabriel is coming with me.”

Realization hits Castiel like a freight train at full speed. Lucifer can’t… he can’t possibly mean that.

Except, the look on his face says otherwise.

“He’s not going anywhere with you,” Castiel says. “You left him, you left all of us. Mom and dad, Michael and Raph, they might have tried to sweep it under the rug, and that’s by no means _right_ , but,”

He swallows as an invisible pressure presses onto his throat.

“Think about what you’re asking,” Castiel continues.

“Gabriel is getting out of here,” says Lucifer. “You and Anna will too, in your own way, in your own time, but this is different.”

“Just because you went and got yourself killed doesn’t mean that you get to take him too,” Castiel spits back. “Just because you couldn’t live in this world doesn’t mean Gabriel can’t. You could have stayed that night. You could have come back upstairs and cooled off, sobered up, but you didn’t. Maybe you could have taken Gabriel away with you under any other circumstance, but… but not this one. You can’t have him anymore.”

The pressure on his throat increases only for a second before it’s released and Lucifer disappears. The kitchen doors fling open and Gabriel falls forward, scrambling over to Cas.

His breath smells like bile, but Castiel affords him a hug anyway.

“I’m sorry,” Gabriel sniffs. “Cas, I’m so fucking scared.”

“I know,” Castiel hugs him back. “I think we need to call Dean and have him take care of this once and for all.”

The energy in the room shifts and everything goes cold.

The righthand window beside the front door cracks and shatters into thousands of pieces.

**oo**

Monday morning Castiel texts Dean to say that he’s coming over after school. Even though he gets no reply, the moment he’s back home he drops his bag and runs across the street.

Castiel is grateful to see that Mr. Winchester’s car isn’t in the driveway. Knowing what he knows of them, it’s true that he could probably help Castiel more efficiently than Dean can, but Mr. Winchester scares the hell out of Castiel and he’s not sure he can get through a conversation with him without remarking on how lovely his eldest son looks when he’s taking a dick.

It’s a very serious problem.

The front door opens, revealing not Dean, but Sam. His string bean legs poke out of his boxer shorts, his wiry arms shield his light-sensitive eyes from the sun.

“Did you just wake up?” asks Castiel.

“I was napping,” Sam yawns. “Come in.”

“I’m actually--”

“Yeah, Dean’s not here,” Sam yawns against his wrist. “He said he was pulling a double shift today.”

“Oh,” Castiel lets out a breath. Well, this just got ten times more stressful, didn’t it?

“Well, whenever he gets back, could you tell him to come over? It’s sort of, um… urgent.”

Sam’s face scrunches up, “No offense, I don’t really wanna talk about what you and my brother get up to.”

“No!” Castiel shakes his head then. “I don’t want to talk about it either. I mean-- Dean’s been helping me with a problem we’ve been having.”

“A problem?” Sam raises an eyebrow.

“Ah,” Castiel lets out a big breath. How is he supposed to say this? “Can you help me, then?”

“With what?” Sam asks, genuinely confused now. Castiel groans, because of course Dean hasn’t told Sam about any of this.

“The ghost in my house,” Castiel elaborates very vaguely. Sam blinks back at him for a moment, and okay, Sam knows what his dad does, right? Castiel didn’t just spoil some big family secret, he’s pretty sure he didn’t.

“Son of a bitch,” Sam sighs then. “Lemme go put on pants.”

He trudges up the stairs as though Castiel’s just told him to go brush his teeth or work on his homework or do his taxes.  It’s odd that anything involving ghosts could be old hat, but Sam seems to think that’s exactly what this is.

“Okay,” Sam comes ambling back down the stairs.  “So. You have a ghost in your house?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know anything about it?” asks Sam as he opens the closet under the stairs and grabs--holy crap.

“Is that a gun?!” Castiel yelps.

“It is,” Sam heaves a sigh. “The bullets aren’t real though, just salt rounds.”

“I… what?”

Sam looks up at Castiel and raises an eyebrow.

“Salt, to ward off the ghost,” he explains. “… how long has Dean known about the ghost that he hasn’t told you about salt rounds?”

“Um,” Castiel shifts, and Sam rolls his eyes.

“This is why dad never takes him on hunts,” he shakes his head and grabs an empty duffel bag out of the closet. “Thinks with his dick.”

“I’m not sure how to respond to that,” Castiel replies.

“Getting rid of a ghost is a cinch,” says Sam.

“Have you ever done it?” asks Castiel, and Sam falters.

“Not by myself, no,” he admits. “But if you help me dig, we should be fine.”

“We’re not digging up my brother’s grave!” Castiel exclaims. Sam startles back, and then he softens into that abandoned puppy face that makes Castiel’s heart hurt.

“It’s your brother haunting you guys?” he asks, and Castiel nods.

“Oh,” Sam runs his fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry.”

He looks down at his feet then and shifts from side to side.

“If you don’t want to do this, I understand,” says Sam. “I don’t think I could if it was Dean.”

Castiel folds his arms over his chest.

“I don’t even know what’s happening, or if this is Lucifer, but,” Castiel blows a breath out of his lungs. “Gabriel was sick yesterday morning. And when he was done throwing up there was this… black goo leaking out of his eyes.”

Sam goes perfectly still.

“Black goo?”

“It was early, and I was tired, but I know what I saw,” Castiel insists.

“No, I believe you, that’s just…” Sam fiddles with the drawstring on his hoodie. “Ghosts produce ectoplasm. It’s this thick, nasty black crap, and when it comes out of people it usually means that, um. That they’ve been possessed by a ghost.”

Castiel’s eyebrows fly up of their own accord.

“Possessed?”

Lucifer wouldn’t possess Gabriel, would he? He knows Lucifer is ornery, and that he likes to get his way, but possession seems a little low, even for him.

“Well, has Gabe said anything about not remembering how he got somewhere, or not being in control of what he’s doing?” Sam asks. “That’s usually a key sign of possession.”

Castiel shrugs, “He did say that this has been happening for the past couple of days, and that he’ll be in bed one minute and then the next he’s throwing up in the toilet.”

Sam frowns. Castiel can see the cogs turning behind his eyes, and wishes he knew as much as Sam so obviously does, so he could help.

“Would your brother have a motive for making Gabriel sick?” asks Sam.

“I’m not sure,” Castiel shakes his head, not wanting to even voice what he knows Lucifer wants. “Gabriel and Lucifer had… a bond, is the best way I can describe it. Gabriel and I are close, and Michael and Lucifer had been close once, but… Gabriel and Lucifer just seemed to have a connection that none of the rest of us had with each other. Does that make sense?”

“Dean and I don’t have a whole lot in common, so,” Sam shrugs. “I guess it makes sense, but I don’t know that that would make him want to possess Gabriel.”

Castiel sighs and rubs his face with his hands. This is… this is not good. And what’s worse is that he has no idea how to handle it. He can’t tell his parents, because it’s entirely likely that they’ll have him institutionalized; he can’t go to anyone really, except for the Winchesters.

They always make those after school PBS specials about drugs and violence and kids getting mixed up with the wrong crowd, so kids know what to do and what to say in bad situations.

Castiel has never had a problem with any of those things.

Where are all the afterschool specials about gay kids dealing with ghosts? He’s just supposed to watch a few episodes of Scooby Doo and expect it all to be okay?

“Cas!” Sam pulls him out of his head and shoves a container full of salt into his hands. “Like I was saying, this is kinda way bigger than I thought, so take the salt and make sure that you line all the windows and doors. Or, make a ring of salt and get inside it; he won’t be able to get past the barrier.”

“Really?” Castiel checks the label. It’s just regular iodized salt. “What’s stopping him?”

“I don’t know,” Sam shrugs. “Most paranormal things abide by rules. Things they can’t touch, lines they can’t cross… it makes you appreciate all the freedoms you have as a human, doesn’t it?”

“I’ll say,” Castiel nods back and then looks up at Sam. “Thank you. I’ll go do all of that salt stuff now.”

“I’ll bring Dean over as soon as he’s back,” Sam promises. “And, uh, stay safe.”

He punctuates the request with a hug, throwing his lanky arms around Castiel’s shoulders and squeezing him tight.

“If you need anything, call me. I’ll come over.”

There’s something about the idea of a scrawny twelve-year-old protecting him that both puts Castiel at ease and makes him want to curl up under a rock and die.

Then again, he has witnessed Sam incapacitate Dean with a pretty impressive chokehold.

So, maybe he’s just put at ease.

**oo**

Castiel’s phone rings while he’s perched outside the bathroom door, listening to Gabriel barf his dinner up into the toilet yet again. That’s Dean’s name on the screen, and Castiel immediately answers.

“Dean?”

“Cas,” Dean’s voice hits his ears and even through the tinny earpiece of the cell phone it’s the most comforting sound Castiel has heard in days. “Are you okay? Sam was saying something about—fuck, just tell me you’re okay.”

“I’m fine,” Castiel sighs. “I’m fine, it’s Gabriel. I think… I think we’re in trouble with this whole Lucifer thing.”

“Shit,” Dean mutters. “Okay, sit tight, I’m—”

The call cuts out, and Castiel looks up to see Lucifer standing over him, shaking his head.

“We can’t have that.”

“Lucifer,” Castiel pats around beside himself until his hand lands on his container of salt. He stands and holds it out in front of him, and Lucifer lets out a laugh.

“Oh?”

“I’ll use it,” Castiel warns.

“You’re incredible,” Lucifer chuckles. “In what world could you possibly believe you’re even half a step ahead of me? I know you, Castiel. I anticipate your every move.”

Castiel takes a handful of salt and throws it right in Lucifer’s face. He disappears with a sickening screech, and Castiel lets out a huff.

“Anticipate that, assface.”

The bathroom door opens and Gabriel steps out, pale and clammy.

“What’s going on?”

“I threw salt in Lucifer’s face and he disappeared,” Castiel explains. “Sam told me that salt is a ghost repellant, though he didn’t explain why.”

Gabriel runs his fingers through his damp hair and sighs.

“Well, that’s only gonna piss him off.”

“Thank you, I did realize that,” Castiel returns.

“No need to get bitchy,” Gabriel rubs his eyes.

“I’m not bitchy,” Castiel says as he peers out the front window. A pair of headlights rolls down the dark street, stopping in front of the Winchesters’ house. The car continues on its way, and then under the street lamps Castiel can see the outline of Dean jogging toward their house.

Thank God.

Castiel unlocks the deadbolt in preparation, but as soon as Dean’s on their stoop, the room gets cold and the door…

The door won’t open.

“What the hell?” he mutters.

“Cas?” Dean calls from the other side.

“I can’t open the door,” Castiel replies.

“Pity,” Lucifer comments lightly from his place in the bathroom doorway. “Looks like your boyfriend can’t get in.”

“Cas, move out of the way,” says Dean. “I’m gonna kick it down.”

“Oh, this should be fun,” Lucifer cocks his head, a malicious curve to his lips.

Dean’s foot collides hard with the door, but it doesn’t budge.

“Son of a bitch!”

Another frame-shaking shot at the door, and still nothing.

“Dean, don’t hurt yourself,” Castiel warns through the wood, and then winces when he tries again.

“What on _earth_ is going on down here?!”

Castiel and Gabriel jump together as dad comes barreling down the stairs, mom and Anna following quickly behind. Oh boy. There is no way that they come out of this looking good.

“Dad, I can explain,” Castiel begins.

And as though those had been the magic words all along, the front door creaks open and Dean stumbles through.

“Is everyone okay?” asks Dean, out of breath from losing his battle with the door. 

Dad quivers and quakes, his face going from pale and sleepy to a deep vermilion in a matter of seconds.

“This is absolutely unacceptable!” Dad bellows. “Do you know what time it is?”

“Dad, I’m sorry, but—“ Castiel feels something like an ice cold hand on the back of his neck, but nobody is touching him.

Then a disembodied, _‘hang tight, little brother’_ worms its way into his ear, and he gasps in a lungful of freezing something.

There’s no way to describe it, really. He’s just suddenly full. He’s full everywhere, from his roots all the way to the top of his head, full up with two spirits in a one-spirit sized skin.

“Castiel,” Dad glowers at him. “If you have something to say, say it.”

“We didn’t mean any harm,” Dean insists. “It’s just—”

Castiel feels himself grab Dean’s hand in his, but there is no way he’s making himself do that. _Lucifer, no. Please._

“Castiel, what are you doing?” mom asks now, and Castiel wants to tell her that it’s nothing, that they can talk about it later, that this isn’t what’s important right now, but Lucifer won’t let him speak.

But Lucifer does pull Dean close against Castiel’s body and surge forward, pressing their lips together. Castiel tries to squirm away, but Lucifer holds them there.

_I thought you liked kissing your boyfriend, Castiel._

“Castiel!” Dad actually pulls Castiel off of Dean and holds him by the back of his shirt. “What are you _doing_?”

Dean and Gabriel look just as confused, but Lucifer shrugs Castiel’s shoulders and says, “My boyfriend came to see me, I wanted to say hello.”

“Cas,” Dean’s eyebrows crunch together.

“Oh, you guys didn’t know?” Castiel hears himself ask. “I’m a cock-sucking faggot.”

“Shit,” he hears Dean say just as mom reaches out to cover Anna’s ears.

“You’re a _what_?”

“Homosexual,” Castiel’s arms fly out to his sides. “Your baby boy is a butt-fucking queer. And boy, you should see the butt-fucking I can dole out. Dean, you wanna tell the nice folks what we get up to when they’re too busy to give a fuck?”

“Not really,” Dean moves toward him and grabs him by the hair. “Open wide, fucker.”

Dean pulls Castiel’s head back and shoves a generous handful of salt into his mouth. There’s a sickening separation he feels go on inside him, like oil and vinegar. Castiel’s spirit sinks to the bottom and Lucifer’s rises up and out. Castiel gags around the mouthful of salt and spits it onto the floor.

It is a very unpleasant taste.

“You okay?” Dean asks.

Castiel nods, but that’s all he has time to do before dad is between the two of them.

“Get your stuff,” he says. “And get out.”

“ _What_?” Gabriel asks as Anna shouts, “Dad!”

“I’m serious,” Dad’s face is stony and cold. “Until you’re ready to change, I don’t want you here.”

“Honey,” mom starts, but dad holds up a hand to silence everyone.

“Have we all forgotten ourselves?” he asks. “The last time I checked, this family served God. How exactly does this,” he gestures between Dean and Castiel, “How exactly does this serve God?”

“Probably the most Dean’s ever prayed in his life,” Gabriel says.

“Gabriel, you are not helping,” Castiel replies.

“Laugh all you want, but your loyalty is first and foremost to God,” Dad insists. “A man is loyal to God, a woman is loyal to her husband, and children are loyal to their parents. That’s the way it goes. And remember that the deepest level of Hell is reserved for traitors.”

“My loyalty,” Castiel interjects. “Is not something to be given blindly. My loyalty is to whomsoever is deserving, and that is certainly not you, or god.”

Castiel heads up the stairs and into his room, where he packs a few changes of clothes into his backpack, gathers up all of his school books, and his guitar. He can barely hear mom and dad arguing downstairs over the rush of blood in his ears. This could still be just a dream, and when he wakes up he could be back in September again. Back before the Winchesters, back before Lucifer decided to haunt them. He once thought he’d give anything to go back to that point in time, but not anymore.

He wouldn’t change if he was granted the opportunity, he thinks.

When he gets back downstairs, dad won’t even look at him. He thinks mom and Anna might want to hug him, but he doesn’t want them to think that this is goodbye. Dean and Gabriel are already outside, so Castiel says very plainly, “I’ll see you soon.”

He lets Anna hug him anyway.

Gabriel and Dean are out in the street, hanging close but it looks like they’re not doing much talking. Castiel joins them and lets out a sigh.

“Dean,” he begins. “I’m so sorry.”

“Dude, shut up,” Dean pulls him into a very tight, suffocating hug. “I should’ve been here sooner, I told you I’d keep you safe—”

“You were at work,” Castiel frowns and pulls back. “Dean, this isn’t your fault. Bad things happen, but it’s not because of you. And see? I’m fine.”

“You got kicked out of your house,” Dean says. “If I’d just manned the fuck up and taken care of this months ago—”

“And we’re done,” Gabriel cuts him off. “No more pity party. Dean-o, what’s a guy gotta do to keep a ghost from possessing him?”

“Uh,” Dean wipes the tears off of his face. “Ring of salt. As long as you stay inside it with the ghost around, you’re safe.

“Excellent,” Gabriel flashes a thumbs up. “Let’s get out of the street now.”

The three of them pick up and walk to Dean’s house. Sam is sitting up inside, watching the TV, obviously awaiting Dean’s return.

He then sees Castiel and Gabriel and his shoulders fall.

“What happened?” he asks.

“Cas is gonna hang with us for a while, until he sorts some shit out with his family,” says Dean.

“What about the ghost?” Sam continues.

“That’s the next step, I’m guessing,” says Gabriel. “How the hell do you get rid of a jagoff ghost?”

“Salt and burn the remains,” Sam and Dean chorus.

“They want to dig up his grave,” Castiel explains, and Gabriel scoffs.

“Why?”

Sam, Dean, and Castiel both look at Gabriel at once, and Gabriel raises an eyebrow.

“You know there’s nothing in his coffin, right?” asks Gabriel.

“What are you talking about?” Castiel sets down the guitar and his bag. “We had a funeral service and everything. I—we watched them bury—“

“A coffin,” Gabriel nods. “He got smashed up in a car crash, there wasn’t anything left to bury. They cremated him. They didn’t want us to know because we were too little, but. Y’know, I do have my ways about me. I can get information.”

“If there are no remains, then how is he haunting us?” asks Castiel. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“A spirit can be tied to any remains,” Sam explains. “Hair, baby teeth, anything like that.”

Castiel looks at Gabriel, who shrugs.

“I can always look through his shit in the basement,” Gabe says. “I’ll come by early when I pick you up for school. We’ll torch some shit, have a pre-school bonfire, it’ll be great.”

It’s not until Gabriel leaves that Castiel feels confident in saying, “He’s terrified.”

**oo**

It’s nice waking up with Dean wrapped around him, Castiel decides, and wishes that he could start every morning this way.

He wishes it didn’t mean that he wasn’t allowed in his house, but he’ll worry about that when Dean’s hands aren’t on him, holding him close.

Sam’s alarm goes off not a minute later, and Castiel remembers, yes, he has to get ready for school.

He untangles himself from Dean’s arms and slips out of bed. Sam is awake already, fully dressed with a power bar between his teeth as he shuts off the alarm.

“What time did you get up?” asks Castiel.

“I’m usually up at 5:30,” Sam explains. “The 6:30 alarm is just a precaution.”

“Great,” Castiel yawns.

“Do you want coffee or anything?” Sam asks. “We have instant. I think it’s crap, but Dean likes it.”

“I drink it,” Dean corrects him. “Doesn’t mean I like it.”

“Then why drink it?” Sam argues back, and Castiel figures this is not the first time they’ve discussed this.

Castiel manages to pull himself out of bed and into a clean set of clothes for the day ahead. He can’t wait for the school year to be over. He thinks he’d like long, lazy summer days with the Winchesters more than dark, cranky, springtime mornings.

At seven o’clock exactly Gabriel and Anna both knock on the front door. Anna flies into Castiel and wraps her arms around him again, tighter even than last night.

“Don’t worry,” Castiel hugs her back. “We’ll sort all of this out, I promise.”

“Well, the only thing I could find was this,” Gabriel pulls an envelope out of his pocket. Castiel checks it over Anna’s head, and Gabriel continues, “His baby hair. No teeth or anything, but this has gotta be it, right?”

Castiel takes the envelope and peers inside. It’s nothing but a soft little curl of blonde hair, tied with string.

“This is him,” Castiel marvels.

“Freaky, right?” Gabriel nods and comes inside. Dean sits on the bottom step of the stairs, still in his pajamas, rubbing sleep out of his eyes.

“Nothing else?” he asks.

“Nothing I could find,” Gabriel shakes his head as Sam lumbers down the steps.

With him he has a book of matches and a canister of salt.

He stops when he sees Anna.

“Oh… hi.”

Sam and Dean glance at her and then at each other.

“Hey, she’s cool,” Gabriel grabs her by the shoulders. “Five older brothers and designated family insect catcher and you think she can’t handle paranormal rituals?”

“She’s ten,” Dean raises an eyebrow.

“Yeah, how long had you been doing this by her age again?” Gabriel asks.

Dean nods, “Fair enough,” and nudges Sam the rest of the way down the stairs.

In the kitchen, Dean pulls out a giant silver bowl and sets it on the floor.

“DNA goes in there,” says Dean. He meets Castiel’s eye and gives him a reassuring smile.

Castiel tosses the envelope full of the last remaining tendril of his older brother.

It’s bittersweet, he determines, as Sam pours a liberal coat of salt and lighter fluid into the bowl along with it. Lucifer is family, after all.

Anna looks up then and startles. Just behind Sam, Lucifer has materialized.

“What’s going on here, boys and girls?” he asks. “Throwin’ a party?”

“Dean!” Sam tosses Dean the matchbook. With staggering speed, Dean lights the whole book on fire and tosses it into the bowl before Lucifer can even take a step forward. Smoke curls around the flames as the ashy smell of paper and hair stings Castiel’s nose.

And like that, Lucifer disappears.

Castiel was honestly expecting something more climactic. He didn’t expect explosions or anything, but a little finality would have been nice.

Dying in a fire versus dying while asleep.

“Well, that was exciting,” Gabriel comments then. “I’ll be in the car.”

“Did it work?” asks Anna, not moving to follow Gabriel out of the kitchen. Castiel looks to Sam and Dean, neither of whom look satisfied.

“He’s gone,” Castiel shrugs. “Isn’t he?”

“I’ve never seen a ghost go like that,” Dean shakes his head. “There’s fire and screaming… there’s gotta be something else.”

“Clothes or anything that might have a hair stuck in them?” Sam offers.

“No,” Castiel shakes his head.

Sam purses his lips, brow furrowed deep in thought. “Maybe not all ghosts go up in flames,” he suggests. “Could be that Lucifer is just the exception that proves the rule.”

Dean looks over at him, “Even you know that’s bullshit.”

“Well then what the hell would his spirit be tethered to?” asks Sam, but just saying it aloud seems to have answered his question. He turns and dashes into the living room, stopping by the door, where Castiel had set his belongings last night.

The door is wide open, and Lucifer’s old guitar is gone.

 


	16. Heal Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "We're not gonna take it  
> Never did and never will  
> We're not gonna take it  
> Gonna break it  
> Gonna shake it  
> Let's forget it better still"
> 
> We're Not Gonna Take It- The Who

Come to think of it, that guitar had always had certain magnetism about it. Castiel can’t even remember being interested in music before Lucifer died, and yet the moment he laid eyes on the guitar, he was compelled, obsessed over it for days until he finally gave into the compulsion to pull it into his lap and pluck a few of the strings.

It wasn’t the sound as much as it was the vibration that drew him in. Not the vibration of the sound, but the vibration of the air around him. The mourning sepia tones dissolved around him and in his world there was color once more. Not just color, but Technicolor. The most vibrant hues he’d ever seen, and all because he’d made an instrument sing.

What if it’s all because of him?

What if Lucifer never would have come back if Castiel had just once been able to stuff his hands in his pockets and tell himself, no, you can’t have that.

“How were you supposed to know?” asks Dean.  He sits at their dining table, fills shotgun shells with salt as though this is the most normal thing in the world.

“I don’t know,” Castiel shrugs. “But if I’d just let mom donate it like she’d wanted—“

“Dude, then Lucifer would be terrorizing some other poor family,” says Dean. “Trust me, this is all on Lucifer, not you.”

“How can it all be on a ghost?” Castiel frowns.

“Spirits are all given a chance to move on,” Dean explains. “What they do with that chance is up to them. Move on, or stay here and become a bitter, jaded, _violent_ nut job.”

Castiel frowns and finally takes the seat beside Dean. He scoots close and says, “What are you doing?”

Carefully, Dean shows Castiel how to fill shells with rock salt.

“You ever shot anything before?” Dean asks, and Castiel shakes his head. Dad used to take Michael and Lucifer and Raph out hunting when they’d go on family camping trips. Killing has never been all that appealing to Castiel, and neither had the wilderness. He loves nature, loves feeling the dirt between his toes and the rough pull of tree bark across his palms, but people have always been infinitely more interesting to him.

Everything they know, their culture, their lives, everything is built on ideas. Human beings can take their consciousness, their thoughts, the messages that neurons fire off in their brains, and manifest them in the real world.

Dean unloads a pistol from the other side of the table and hands it to Castiel. It’s a little warm from Dean’s hand, and yet surprisingly cold. A hand lands on the back of Castiel’s neck, and Castiel takes in a sharp breath.

“It’s pretty cool, right?” Dean shrugs.

“I suppose,” Castiel sets the gun down and licks his lips. “Have you—you’ve never shot a person, have you?”

Dean folds his arms over his chest and slumps in his chair.

“Just monsters,” he says. “We save people, hunt monsters.”

Castiel nods.

“What’s your dad hunting now?”

“Poltergeist,” Dean shrugs. “Nothin’ to write home about; he’ll probably be back tomorrow.”

Castiel scoots closer to Dean, until their knees touch. It’s small, but comforting.

Dean’s always been a comfort, though. Even in the few months they’ve known each other, Castiel doesn’t think he’s ever liked another person this much. He has a hardened exterior, sure, and a liking for living off the grid, but he’s unrelentingly kind, and actually very sweet.

Castiel reaches up and lays a palm on Dean’s cheek.

Dean looks like he wants to question it, but Castiel doesn’t let him. He leans forward and brings him into a kiss. Castiel loves the way Dean sighs into kisses, like he can’t quite believe someone would want to be so close to him.

He shifts so that he’s straddling Dean’s lap, tongue tracing softly along the plump curve of his lips and sliding into Dean’s mouth. Dean’s hands rest on his hips, holding him firmly in place.

They pull away, and Dean gives a dazed little grin, “Hunting ghosts make you horny too?”

“Shut up,” Castiel rolls his eyes, pointedly avoiding eye contact. He traces the back of his finger over the tiny swell of nipple he can see through Dean’s shirt, and grins when Dean lets out a sharp noise of surprise.

“You—you’re pretty handsy for a guy who’s gonna ghostbust his own brother,” Dean swallows hard.

“I’d rather not talk about any of this while I’m trying to make your dick hard,” says Castiel.

“Right,” Dean nods. “My mistake.”

Castiel hums and snags Dean’s lower lip between his teeth. He splays his hands out and runs his palms down over Dean’s chest and abdomen, one hand coming to cup at the rapidly growing lump in Dean’s jeans.

Dean swears under his breath and pulls Castiel close against him. Castiel plants his lips on Dean’s neck and sucks a hickey to life just below the collar of his t-shirt.

“Sam’s got soccer ‘til late,” Dean huffs.

“Excellent,” Castiel slides off of Dean’s lap and pulls him up. They scramble up the stairs and into Dean’s and Sam’s room. Nobody’s home, but Dean locks the door just in case, while Castiel strips himself of his sweater and t-shirt and plants himself on the bed.

“Holy shit,” Dean laughs. “Eager, much?”

“You’re hardly one to talk,” Castiel nods at the now very obvious outline of Dean’s erection against his leg.

Dean looks down, and then turns a smile back up at Castiel before he presses a palm against himself.

Castiel’s mouth runs dry, and he realizes that, wow, he would actually give anything to watch Dean make himself come.

He scoots forward on the bed and, unable to verbalize, holds out his arms and beckons Dean closer to him. The moment he’s in reach, Castiel hooks his fingers through his belt loops and pulls him forward.

He pushes Dean’s t-shirt up and kisses the tiny swell of his tummy, just below his belly button.

Dean wriggles and pulls off his whole shirt, impatient. Castiel takes it another step further and undoes the button and zip on his jeans.

“Shit, Cas,” Dean laughs. “You wanna slow your roll, there?”

“No,” Castiel replies, pressing a kiss into Dean’s happy trail, dipping his tongue just below the waistband of his boxers. Dean lets out a shaky breath, and Castiel’s chest swells. He likes having this effect on Dean, he decides. He likes the soft sighs, the way Dean’s resolve melts and he eventually joins Cas on the bed.

They both kick their way out of their jeans altogether, leaving them buck naked and frotting against one another. Dean hovers over him and starts to kiss down Castiel’s chest and stomach.

He closes his hand around Castiel’s stiff cock and strokes softly. Dean’s hands are much bigger than his, rougher, more practiced. Castiel arches into the touch, losing his breath at how hard his heart pumps against his ribs.

“You’re so fuckin’ gorgeous, Cas,” Dean murmurs into his hip, and then kisses his way over and— _oh_ —takes Castiel into his mouth.

Yes, he definitely likes Dean’s mouth on him a lot. He lets out a loud whimper and immediately slaps his hands over his face to stifle himself.

Only then he realizes that there’s no one home to hear them. He lowers his hands, and just then Dean tries to take him down as far as he can go.

Castiel lets out an embarrassingly loud whine, and _god_ Dean is looking at him with those big green eyes and _it’s just too much_. He lets out every gasp, every moan, every single hitch in his breath sending Dean into sucking harder, bobbing faster.

Castiel wants to last, but god he doesn’t want Dean to stop either. There’s something about Dean’s hollowed out cheeks, the way he holds Castiel down and teases even louder noises out of him.

“Dean,” he pants, scraping his fingers through Dean’s hair. “Dean, look at me.”

Dean glances up at them again and they lock eyes. Castiel’s toes curl.

“I like it when you look at me,” he breathes.  Dean’s eyes brighten and he redoubles his efforts, head bobbing until Castiel arches off the bed and comes _hard_.

Dean swallows it all back, too.

God, he is so damn beautiful.

“You like that?” asks Dean.

“Very much,” Castiel gives a languid stretch, feeling absolutely boneless. He looks down and sees Dean sitting back, erection thick and heavy between his legs. Castiel licks his lips and props himself up on his elbows.

“Would you like to fuck me, Dean?”

Dean goes from flushed red to sheet white in a matter of seconds.

Instigating, Castiel rolls and grabs the lube and condoms out of Dean’s nightstand and hands him both.

“Dude,” Dean breathes. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Castiel gives him a smile. “You enjoy it, perhaps I will too.”

Dean gulps and nods. “Okay,” he says, more like he’s comforting himself than Castiel. “Okay, uh, lie back.”

Castiel smiles again and does as he’s told. Dean stuffs a pillow under his hips and spreads his legs wide. Castiel has gone soft against his belly, but with the way Dean is looking at him he doesn’t think that will be a problem for very long.

Dean wets the tip of his thumb and presses it gently against Cas’ hole. He strokes softly, gently, cracks the bottle of lube and coats.

There’s the slight pressure of one fingertip pushing inside him, and Castiel and Dean moan at once.

“You’re really fuckin’ tight, baby,” Dean’s brows knit together in concentration.

“So open me up,” Cas replies. They lock eyes once again, and the way Dean smiles at him, so tender and so full of emotion, nothing else matters. There’s nothing around them, just this moment, just Dean’s finger pressing slowly inside him and his voice murmuring reassuring, “ _You’re okay_ ” and “ _I’ve got you_ ”.

One finger is nice, and two is a little bit of a stretch. Dean is gracious with the lube, having been on the other side of this before, and knows just how to make it feel right. After an indiscriminate amount of time, Dean has found his prostate and has teased Castiel into getting hard again, and Dean is starting to rut up into nothing.

“Dean,” Castiel’s voice comes out a little ragged. “Dean, please. I’m ready, just… please. I need you.”

Dean’s cheeks go pinker and he pulls his fingers out of Castiel. He futzes with the condom and lubes himself up some more. He’s never looked so stressed and so lust-drunk, that Castiel has seen anyway.

Dean presses into Castiel and, yes, it is a tad bit uncomfortable, but it’s worth it to see the look on Dean’s face as he sinks in. Yes, it feels just as good from this side as it does from the other. Warmth blooms in Castiel’s chest, which turns quickly into raw, unbridled longing and he realizes.

“You okay?” Dean pants against his skin.

“Yeah,” Castiel huffs and wraps his arms around Dean’s shoulders. “Yeah, Dean. I’m wonderful.”

Dean moans at that and rocks his hips gently forward.

“Go,” Castiel hums. “Please.”

Dean is much better at setting a rhythm than Castiel is. It’s obvious that he’s more practiced in this position, knows where to put Cas’ legs and how to get him angled just right. Dean loses himself in it, and by association so does Castiel. He rocks his hips up, tries to keep the pace Dean sets, but Castiel is still so green in comparison.

The headboard starts knocking against the wall and Castiel can’t catch his breath. He braces himself against the thrusts, wraps his legs around Dean’s waist and lets himself get good and fucked.

“Fuck, ‘m close,” Dean murmurs. Castiel reaches between them and wraps a hand around himself, jerking in time with Dean’s thrusts. His second orgasm takes longer to build than the first one, and when he comes this time it’s all over his chest and belly.

Dean only barely opens his eyes before shutting them again, “Goddamn, that’s sexy as _hell_.”

Castiel laughs through a few breathless pants and stops what he’s doing to pull Dean back down into a kiss. Dean grunts and goes still above him, hips twitching and arms shaking as he tries to hold himself up through his orgasm.

Castiel isn’t sure how long it takes for them to detangle from one another, only knows that he feels weirdly empty where he never has before.

Dean disposes of the condom and then flops back onto the bed, all smiles and heavy limbs and nuzzling noses.

“You good?” he asks, and Castiel hums back.

“I’m good,” he affirms, breathing into a sigh of contentment, “I love you.”

He hadn’t meant to say it, it just kind of… happened. But when you love people, you’re supposed to tell them, and every second it hangs in the air, the truer Castiel realizes it is.

He loves Dean.

Oh, boy… he _loves_ Dean.

“You hungry?” Dean asks then. “I think I need a post-fuck pizza.”

He bounces back off the bed and, naked, runs downstairs to grab his phone.

Castiel, alone in Dean’s bed, sore and fucked out and feeling until this moment so blissfully content, just says, “Oh… okay.”

**oo**

“Boom,” a sack lunch plops on Castiel’s table in front of him. “From our kitchen to yours.”

Castiel looks up at him, eyes wide as he asks, “Really?”

Gabriel nods, and Castiel opens up the paper sack. He then pulls out a very goopy-looking sandwich and frowns, “Is this a fluffer nutter?”

“Whoops,” Gabriel snatches the sandwich away and sets the other bag in front of Castiel. “That’s mine. There’s a very sensible turkey and swiss on fourteen grain for you.”

Castiel beams and takes his sandwich out of his bag. Gabriel’s sandwiches are the best, he has found.

“Thank you,” he smiles.

“Shut up,” Gabriel mutters and takes a bite of his sandwich. “Mom’s worried you’re not eating. Obviously it’s been abysmally dull without you in the house. Mom’s resorted to talking to me, and God help me, I’ve resorted to listening.”

“At least you’re still in the house,” says Cas through a mouthful of sandwich. God, this is good.

“At least your strange bedfellows are actually alive,” Gabriel points out.

Castiel gives a few thoughtful chews and swallows, “I’m going to assume that sounded a lot less incestuous in your head.”

“I swear to god, all that creepy fucker does is just sit on your bed with that guitar and stare at me,” Gabriel shakes his head.

“And I’ll assume again that he won’t let you anywhere near it,” Castiel stares at Gabriel, making sure that his brother did indeed try to get the guitar away from him at least once.

Gabriel raises his eyebrow in a pointed look.

“I don’t know how we’re gonna do it,” he says then. “Honestly, buckaroo, if you’ve got any way to get at him, you know I’m game. ‘cause right now we’re lookin’ pretty fucked.”

“There’s one of him and four of us,” Castiel says, “Five, if you count Anna.”

Gabriel nods, “I’ll run it by management.”

Castiel huffs his amusement and continues to eat. They’re going to have to get close to the damn thing somehow. That way they can destroy it and put Lucifer to rest.

Castiel nods, _Like a horcrux_.

“You read Harry Potter?” Gabriel asks through a full mouth.

Crap, did he just say all that out—

Wait a minute.

“ _You_ read Harry Potter?” Castiel perks up.

Gabriel narrows his eyes and leans forward; Castiel matches the position.

“House?”

“Self-sorted Ravenclaw, Pottermore Hufflepuff,” Castiel replies. “House?”

“Self-sorted Hufflepuff, Pottermore hatstall between Hufflepuff and Slytherin.”

Castiel slumps and shakes his head, “That is the least surprising thing I’ve heard all day.”

Gabriel goes back to eating his sandwich, and Castiel narrows his eyes.

“What?”

“Which did you choose?” Castiel prompts, and Gabriel shrugs.

“Gabe,” Castiel implores, but Gabriel only bounces his eyebrows in response.

For the first time in a long while, an easy laugh bubbles out of Castiel’s chest. On top of their haunted house, this is also the longest he’s gone without sleeping in the same room as Gabe. Alive though his bedfellows may be, they’re nothing compared to one that brings him cookies at one in the morning and watches crappy TV with him until they both fall asleep.

Castiel’s phone rings, jolting him out of his trance, and he pats to cover it. He knows he’s not supposed to have it on at school, but he’s… he’s been texting Dean all morning. He spoke to him and everything after last night, but there’s just been something off since it happened.

If it is Dean, he’ll have to wait. He doesn’t need his phone confiscated—as Gabriel would say, there are enough cherries on top of this sundae. He blindly pushes buttons until the ringing stops and goes back to eating his sandwich, flustered.

Another ten seconds go by and then Gabriel’s phone starts to ring. He checks the caller ID and frowns.

“Mom?” he answers. A pause, and then his face falls. “Why are you calling me if you know it’s not supposed to be on?”

His face goes from light and playful to grim in a matter of a few moments.

“Is she okay?”

Castiel’s spine straightens.

“Okay… okay, yeah. We’ll be there after school… Yeah, you too.”

Gabriel hangs up the phone and rubs his temples.

“Anna broke her leg, she’s at the ER,” he says. “Guess which room she says she got chased out of?”

Castiel stills. _Oh, god._

Of course Anna would try to get the guitar. She would only ever try to help; she hates when things idle too long. If there’s a problem, she’s going to solve it.

“That fucker,” Gabriel throws his sandwich back into his bag.

“Gabriel—“

“No!” Gabriel snaps. “Go after me, that’s fine. Hell, go after you; you’re a big kid, you can take care of yourself. Go after my baby sister and you sign your fucking death warrant.”

And he amends after a second thought, “Another death warrant. Whatever. C’mon, how married are you to sixth period?”

Sneaking out of school and into the parking lot is a lot easier than it should be. They blend in with the flow of seniors who get to leave early, hop in their car, and haul ass out of the lot.

Castiel’s phone buzzes in his pocket again. This time he checks it, and purses his lips when he sees that it’s a message from Dean.

_‘your sis is in a cast??’_

_‘I know. She was trying to get the guitar. I think Lucifer did something. Gabe and I are heading home.’_

_‘cool ill see if i can get in and check it out.’_

“Asshat,” Castiel mutters and shoves the phone in his pocket.

“Whoa, what’s with the ice there, Mr. Freeze?”

“Nothing,” Castiel spits back. He’d rather not talk about this with his brother, thank you.

“Oh-ho, no way, man,” Gabriel shakes his head, though, and Castiel groans. “I don’t get to say ‘nothing’, so neither do you, got it?”

Castiel smacks his head back against the headrest. He does suppose that Gabriel knows him better than anyone, and that if he had to talk to anyone in his life, Gabriel is, unfortunately, the best option.

“Dean is acting strangely,” he decides to disclose.

“Honeymoon phase is over already?” Gabriel jests, but Castiel’s lack of response prompts the follow up, “Okay, what happened?”

“We had sex,” Castiel sighs. It was nice sex, too.

“… no lie, I was pretty sure that was already happening,” says Gabriel.

“It was,” Castiel shifts a little taller. “We switched.”

“Oh, boy.”

“I let him… hm. How do I say this mindfully…”

“You can’t.”

“Last night was the first time I allowed Dean to put his dick in my ass.”

“And yet there _had_ to be a better way than that,” Gabriel sighs as they stop at a red light. He massages his temples. “Well, okay, you switched up who’s getting punched in the dirt button. He was on top, how’d—”

Gabriel’s eyebrows fall into a grim line.

“Cas, did he hurt you?”

“As I’m sure you can figure, anal sex is not very comfortable, but he didn’t _hurt_ me,” Castiel cocks his head.

“What happened?” Gabriel turns his attention back to driving and Castiel sighs.

“I don’t know,” he says, and then thinks better of it. This is Gabriel. “Yes I do. I told him I love him and I think I scared him.”

“You—?!” Gabriel’s eyes go wide. “Why?”

Castiel frowns, “Because I love him.”

“Jesus, Cas, I thought this was just gonna be a random hookup with you two.”

Yeah, so did Castiel. If he’d known he was going to end up being so emotionally invested in Dean Winchester, he may have just told himself ‘no’ altogether. Of course, then where would he be? There would still be a ghost in his house, he would still be trying to suppress his natural curiosities about the world outside.

Gabriel might be dead.

“It’s of no import,” Castiel snaps back into himself, shaking the bad thoughts out of his head. “He’s agreed to help us, that’s all that matters.”

Gabriel’s silent for a few moments before he mocks back, _“It is of no import, Master Luke”_.

Back on their street, Castiel sees Dean sitting on the curb outside his house, waiting. He sees Gabriel and Castiel pull up and he shoots to his feet, jogging over just as Gabe parks the car. He looks a little beat—what Castiel thought was just morning grogginess actually appears to be full-blown exhaustion.

“Dean, did you sleep?” Castiel asks.

“Yeah, I was right next to you all night,” Dean brushes off. “Surprise of all surprises, your parents won’t let me in the house to talk to Anna.”

“No kidding,” Gabriel tosses back. “They find out you’ve sodomized their baby boy too, they might start throwing spears at you.”

Castiel scowls at Gabriel, just as Dean mutters, “Wow, Gabriel knows about our sex life. Shocker of all shockers.”

“Forgive me, I was under the impression I was allowed to talk to my own brother.”

Dean’s idea of retaliation is to mimic his voice about eight octaves too high.

“Would you two just fucking get over yourselves?” Gabriel rolls his eyes. “I hate to break it to you Sundance, but if they didn’t let Butch inside they’re certainly not gonna let you in either. So I suggest you let me go take care of this while you two kiss and make up. Or don’t. At this point, I’d rather deal with the fucking ghost that’s attacking our family.”

“You mean our brother?” Castiel raises his eyebrows.

“He’s a goddamned vengeful spirit who’s attacking the rest of our family,” Gabriel shouts, definitely loud enough for the neighbors to hear, “So fuck him. He’s not our brother anymore. He’s just some dick that needs to be put the fuck down, so that’s what I’m gonna do.”

Gabriel shoulders his bag and stomps up to the house, disappearing with a final slam of the front door.

A few moments pass and Castiel clears his throat.

“I’m going to go inside now,” he says.

“Good idea, yeah,” Dean nods. “I’ll… I’ll wait out here.”

Castiel rolls his eyes, “Is this because I told you that I love you?”

“Holy _fuck_ , dude.”

“Dean, I don’t expect you to say it back,” Castiel frowns. “And I certainly don’t want you to if that’s not how you feel. It slipped out last night. And while that doesn’t mean it’s not true, I—I don’t know. I’m going to go help Gabriel. I’ll see you later.”

Castiel doesn’t like leaving Dean standing alone in his front yard, but Gabriel is right. There’s bigger stuff here that needs to be addressed before he can even think about Dean.

**oo**

Anna sits on the couch, pink Nintendo DS in her hands and a scowl on her face. Gabriel sets his backpack down by the stairs and sits down on the fireplace hearth, leaning forward on his thighs.

“He snuck up on me,” Anna says before Gabriel can even ask. “I had it, and then he came out of nowhere and I fell down the steps.”

Gabriel looks over at the staircase and whistles, “That’s a mighty big tumble, slugger.”

“No kidding,” she indicates the bright purple fiberglass wrapped around her calf. She puts her DS down in her lap, “He said he wasn’t expecting me.”

“Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition,” Gabriel smiles, and Anna smiles back. “That’s what makes you such a formidable opponent. People never expect you to kick as much ass as you do. Rookie mistake, if you ask me.”

Anna’s smile softens and she looks at the console in her lap.

“He said he doesn’t want any of us,” she murmurs. “Just you.”

Gabriel’s heart jumps up into his throat.

The front door opens and shuts again, and Castiel comes in to sit beside Gabriel. Anna perks up, “You’re here!”

“Of course I’m here,” Cas gives her a smile. “You’re really brave, Anna.”

“Yeah, right,” Anna rolls her eyes. “I knew you two stooges were just going to sit around twiddling your thumbs until someone took action.”

“Damn girl,” Gabriel sits up. “Look at you. Dolin’ out the sass like she’s born for it. High five.”

He holds up his hand, but Anna raises her eyebrow and Gabriel puts his hand back in his lap.

“How do we get this done?” she asks.

Gabriel blows a breath out of his chest, and Castiel leans back on his hands.

“Ghosts don’t like iron or salt,” Castiel puzzles out. “You’re safe from ghosts in a circle of salt.”

“Yeah, we’re kinda fucked outside of the circle though,” Gabriel sighs.

The thing about Lucifer is that he’s always ten steps ahead of everyone—that’s how he’s always been. Even when he got caught, or when he tripped up, he was still an expert at making things work out in his favor.

He glances at Castiel and knows the poor kid is down for the count. It’s one thing for his parents to treat him like shit, he’s used to it, but they’ve always liked Castiel more than him. Dad, in particular.

“What does Dean say about all this?” asks Anna. “He and his brother are the ghost experts, right?”

“At this point, I think we have to get rid of him ourselves,” says Castiel.

“Oh, don’t whine just because you and your damn boyfriend are in the middle of a tiff,” Gabriel rolls his eyes.

He tries not to laugh when Anna narrows her eyes at Castiel and asks, “What did you do?”

“I know my love life is very interesting,” Castiel glowers at the both of them, “but I seem to be the only person concerned with the fact that there is a homicidal ghost in our home.”

“Believe it or not, people can worry about two things at once, Mr. Spock,” Gabriel says. Footfalls sound overhead and immediately Castiel shoots to his feet. He looks for somewhere to hide, but he’s too slow. Mom is already down on the bottom step, and has already seen Castiel.

“Well, come here and give me a hug,” she opens her arms, and Castiel’s body goes limp with relief.

He and mom hug.

“I’m so happy to see you, honey,” she says. “It’s not the same without you here. Are you eating?”

“Yes, and Gabriel brought me a sandwich.”

Gabriel clears his throat, just as Anna perks up.

“Wait a minute,” she holds up a finger. “I have an idea.”

**oo**

“What the hell is even in hula hoops anyway?” asks Dean as he saws through the scratched up pink and white candy striped plastic.

“I don’t know,” Gabriel shrugs. “Didn’t know there was anything in them.”

There’s something that looks inherently sadistic about four teenage boys sawing what is very clearly a marketed for a prepubescent girl, but they can’t worry about that right now.

“Is this even going to work?” Castiel asks when, finally, they get the tube opened up. Some weird sand substance comes out and Sam wrinkles his nose.

“It should work,” he says. “Even when demons can’t see devil’s traps, they still get stuck in them. Just because you can’t see something doesn’t mean it’s not there.”

“Sagely advice there, Sammy,” Dean swipes the sweat off his brow and then holds out a hand. “Funnel.”

Sam sticks out his tongue at him and hands Dean a funnel from their stack of supplies. It’s far too late for any of them to be out; by Gabriel’s phone it’s just after eleven o’clock. And yet here they are, filling a hula hoop with salt in the dull, shaky illumination of Castiel’s flashlight.

“Okay, Sammy, lets fire up the salt,” Dean holds the empty tube steady, and Sam hauls the bag of salt off the ground. “Question is,” Dean says as Sam starts pouring the salt. “Who the hell’s going for it?”

“I will,” Sam offers.

“Like hell you will,” Dean scoffs. “We’re in enough shit as it is without it getting back to dad that I let you go up against a ghost by yourself. Christ, look what it did to the last kid who tried to cross it.”

Sam scowls and stares dejectedly into the flow of salt.

“I’ll go then,” Castiel volunteers.

“Yeah, that’s a _fuck_ no,” Dean looks at him, something behind his eyes that Gabriel could only call tenderness. “Dude, I’m not letting you go up against your psycho specter brother. Look, I know what I’m doing, I’ve done this kinda thing before, I’ll go.”

“What if you get hurt?” Sam challenges. “I’m just supposed to let you get your ass handed to you? What if I end up alone with dad? I’ll murder him, Dean. I will straight up murder him. And then I’ll resurrect you and murder you for leaving me alone.”

“God, shut the fuck up,” Gabriel rolls his eyes. “I’m going.”

Castiel looks down at him where he’s squatted on the ground. “Gabriel, that’s not a good idea.”

“So what?” Gabriel shrugs. “None of this is a good idea. I’m at least well versed in his dickbaggery. In and out, it’ll be a snap.”

Dean and Castiel share an uneasy look, but say nothing further.

“Don’t everyone jump to stop me,” Gabriel rolls his eyes and stands. It takes another few minutes to get the hoop full to the brim on both ends. Then Dean goes about the very painstaking process of sealing the two ends back together.

There’s a lot of duct tape involved.

“All right,” he pants and steps back from the hoop. “It’s all you.”

Gabriel steps inside the hoop and holds his hands out to the side. “That it?”

Dean nods.

“How the hell am I supposed to carry it with me?” he asks.

“Wait,” Castiel grabs the duct tape from Dean and beckons Gabriel to pick up the hoop. Out of the tape he makes two suspenders of sorts, and that’s how Gabriel ends up looking like he’s just escaped a Space-themed LARP gone wrong.

“It’s… very nice,” Sam nods.

“I’m no fashion critic, but you look like if the planet Saturn was a person. And also mentally deranged.”

“Thanks, these are all super constructive comments,” Gabriel nods. He shakes his shoulders and laughs as the hoop bounces, suspended.

If it’s possible to be inconspicuous while running across the street with a hula hoop bouncing around your waist, Gabriel is pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to pull it off anyway. He has to maneuver the hoop to get it through the door, but Sam, Dean, and Castiel all quickly pad through behind him.

“We’re going to light a fire,” Sam whispers as Dean goes to inspect the fireplace. He pulls the iron fire poker from its place and hands it to Castiel.

“Every idiot needs backup,” he says. “I’d feel a lot safer knowing you were mine.”

Gabriel’s eyelids flutter shut. He’s fucking had it with these two.

“Just kiss,” Sam, luckily, chimes in before Gabriel can say anything inappropriate.

For someone who just a few hours ago was so pissy with Dean, he sure jumps on the opportunity to smooch him pretty fast. Gabriel casts Sam a tired gaze, and Sam, in return, rolls his eyes.

“Okay, we’re done with tonsil hockey,” Gabriel grabs Castiel’s wrist and pulls him toward the stairs. “We’re going in.”

Gabriel’s palms start to sweat the moment he takes the first step up the stairs. His adrenaline spikes, his teeth start to grind, and he wonders if this was such a good idea after all.

In their room, the lights are all off and the air is still, warm even. There’s no sign of Lucifer’s presence anywhere. Even in the quietest moments, whenever he’s around there’s always an ethereal buzz in the air that sets Gabriel’s arm hairs on end.

“There,” Castiel whispers at the guitar, where it lays on the floor from Anna’s foiled attempt at snatching it.

“Seriously?” Gabriel walks over to it and stands over it. Following everyone’s logic, it seems like, yeah. It’s safe in the circle with him now. He bends over and picks it up.

“Easy-peasy, huh?” he looks over at Castiel, who stands at the ready with his iron anyway.

“Suspiciously easy,” Castiel agrees, warily scanning the room.

“Whatever, let’s not look a gift horse in the mouth here.”

“I agree,” comes Lucifer’s wry, amused reply, and both brothers jump out of their skins. “Gabe, a pleasure to see that you’re embracing your shape. That hoop… it works for you. Not many fat people can pull off such a bold look.”

Castiel comes to and swings the iron through the apparition, giving Gabriel enough time to sneak out of the room and dash back down the stairs.

Before he can get too far, the couch flies across the floor and barricades the bottom of the stairs.

“Lucifer, this is ridiculous,” Gabriel warns. “You have to go.”

“I don’t have to do anything,” Lucifer appears, standing on the couch cushions. Oh, mom would have a _cow_.

“Dean, Sam,” Gabriel’s voice shakes. His heart starts hammering again, his palms get more and more slippery. Dean and Sam skid into view and Dean is the first to say, “Aw, crap.”

There’s an orange glow coming from the fireplace, his heartbeat in his ears, and the icy chill of Lucifer settling into his bones.

“Guys, take the guitar,” says Gabriel.  

“You moron, I’m attached to that,” Lucifer scoffs. “Wherever it goes, I go too. And as long as I can go with it, I’ll always find you, baby brother.”

Tears prick behind Gabriel’s eyes, but he won’t give Lucifer the satisfaction. Instead he squares his shoulders, “Fuck off, you dick.”

“Very nice, very witty,” Lucifer applauds. “God, you know what the worst part is? You’re not a terrible person, Gabriel. You’re smart, in your own way, you’re cunning, you barely have to snap your fingers to get people to bend to your will, and yet all you do is sit around here and watch TV all day.”

“Monologuing, Luci, really?” is the only thing that comes to Gabriel’s mind.  “What’s next, a cape on your super villain costume?”

“Sarcasm,” Lucifer gives a patronizing smile. “Defenses are up. See, maybe if you spent more time facing what frightens you instead of building a wall around it, you wouldn’t have so much trouble with going after what you want.”

“Shut up.”

“But no,” Lucifer continues. “You think you’re a piece of shit. You always have, haven’t you? Instead of being the bright-eyed little prodigy you wanted to be, you wound up being the family punching bag. It’s a tough gig, but that’s what you get for letting yourself be a terrified little boy who has to hide every time mommy and daddy start fighting.”

Tears spill over Gabriel’s cheeks, and he rasps, “Fuck you.”

“They’ll never love you like you want them to,” Lucifer states. “You could fall off the face of the earth and they wouldn’t give a damn. But me, you’ll always have me. I will never treat you like they’ve treated you.”

Through his groggy eyes he can see Lucifer’s smile, still on his face. He opens his arms for a hug, but Gabriel frowns.

It then occurs to him that he has a ring of salt _around_ him. That as long as he’s in this, Lucifer can’t hurt him.

He… he doesn’t have to listen to Lucifer. He’s never made that connection before.

More quickly than he has ever moved before, Gabriel hops over the couch and over to the fireplace.

“Gabriel,” Lucifer’s voice alters altogether.

That’s desperation.

He snaps the neck of the guitar with a loud, sickening crack.

“Gabriel, don’t!”

Gabriel throws the pieces into the fireplace and watches with a spike of fear as Lucifer’s entire form goes up in flames.

The room goes silent, the four of them staring at each other before Gabriel sniffs back his tears and de-hula hoops himself. He looks at the burning guitar in the flames, and frowns.

“That’s for calling me fat, dick.”

 


	17. Where I'll End Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I listen to my words but  
> They fall far below  
> I let my music take me where  
> My heart wants to go  
> I swam upon the devil's lake  
> But never, never never never  
> I'll never make the same mistake  
> No, never, never, never"
> 
> The Wind - Cat Stevens

Castiel realizes only too late what kind of ruckus they must have made. Before Castiel can drop Dean’s hand from where it’s clasped in his, before they can move the couch back and clean up the messy fireplace, mom and dad are down the stairs and looking appropriately horrified.

“What on earth is going on here?!” Dad shouts.

Castiel’s grip on Dean’s hand tightens.

“Is everyone okay?” asks mom. “Why is the couch here? Who moved the couch?”

“Lucifer,” says Castiel before he can stop himself. Mom and dad both look at him like he’s started growing daisies out of his nose.

“Castiel,” mom puts a hand over her heart. “Castiel, why would you say that?”

“Frankly, I don’t care why he said it,” dad declares as he climbs over the couch and starts pushing it back into place. “Frankly, I’ve had it up to here with what’s been going on here for the last few months.”

“Honey,” mom warns.

“No,” dad interjects. “These kids are out of control. You,” he points at Gabriel, “You’re grounded. And you,” he points at Castiel, “You are absolutely grounded.”

“Is that different from being regular grounded?” Castiel narrows his eyes.

“Dude,” he hears Dean breathe, but before dad can launch into his pending rage, Gabriel jumps in.

“Gee, dad, how can you ground someone who doesn’t even live here anymore?”

This gives dad pause. He stops where he is, though the fire still burns through his gut and makes his chest heave.

“He’ll just go with Dean,” Gabriel shrugs. “Wherever Dean goes. No telling what they’ll get up to. Personally, I wouldn’t trust the guy any further than I can throw him, but hey, maybe he’s an upstanding citizen and Cas has better taste in men than we thought.”

Dad turns to Gabriel and squints.

“Do you think this is funny?”

“Well, not ha-ha funny, but—”

“This is not a laughing matter, you two need to understand the consequences of your actions.”

“No, hey, I’m all for that,” Gabriel nods, holding up his hands in surrender. “But I’m gonna be eighteen next week, let’s not forget. You don’t legally have a hold over me.”

“Fine, then you won’t legally have a home,” dad snaps back. This serves its purpose, and Gabriel backs off. Dad then turns back to Cas and instructs, “You are to come home. You are grounded through the end of the year. He’s not allowed in this house and you are not allowed in his.”

Castiel blinks, because what exactly is stopping him from doing any of that?

“There is no more fooling around under this roof,” says dad. “If you cross the line, you’re out of here.”

“Fine, I’ll stay with Dean,” Castiel frowns.

“You’re sixteen, Castiel, and you’ll do as I say,” dad comes back. “Otherwise I can start looking into alternate housing for kids like you.”

“You’re not sending him to pray the gay away camp!” Gabriel steps between dad and Castiel.

“Not if he does what is expected of him.”

“He’s expected to live under your roof, afraid to be who he is because his own father threatened to _send him away_ for something he has no control over.”

“He _can_ control it, he just doesn’t want to—“

“Enough!” mom finally shouts, startling Castiel out of holding Dean’s hand. “First of all, nobody is sending anybody anywhere. Now this is exactly the kind of thing that cost us one son, and nearly cost us another. I’m not losing anymore children just because the men in this family are too stubborn for their own good. Castiel is punished through the end of the school year and will be going to summer school—no buts, mister.”

Gabriel opens his mouth to say something, but Castiel cuts him off with a severe shake of his head.

Mom continues, “Gabriel is punished through the end of the school year. He’ll be getting a summer job so that he can start saving up for school.”

Castiel frowns.

“School?”

Gabriel shifts his weight and looks up at the ceiling, “I may have gotten into pastry school and forgot to tell you.”

Castiel’s eyes bug out. He immediately drops Dean’s hand and wraps his arms around Gabriel’s neck.

“Whoa, let’s not get too carried away,” Gabriel tries to laugh it off.

He hugs back, though.

“Thanks,” he says so softly that Castiel can barely hear him.

“Yes, we’re all very proud,” mom nods. “But you need to clean this up and go to bed. You’re still going to school in the morning.”

“I have to get my stuff from Dean’s,” says Castiel.

“I’ll get it,” mom cuts him off, and then turns back to Dean and Sam. “Let’s go.”

Dean casts a last look at Cas as Sam grabs him by the sleeve and drags him out the front door. He just barely manages a smile before mom turns him around and herds him out of the house.

Gabriel and Cas have only a moment of silence before dad demands, “Well?”

It’s the quickest they’ve ever tidied the living room in their lives. After putting out the fire, Castiel sees the tangle of guitar strings, the knobs, the frets. All gone.

Mom returns with Castiel’s things, deems the living room acceptable, and sends them to bed. She stops Castiel at the bottom of the stairs and presses a kiss to his forehead.

“He’s a very nice boy,” she says.

Castiel ends this hellish day with a smile plastered on his face.

* * *

Dean still kind of can’t believe they did it.

Like, they fucking _did_ it. No dad, no book, no Uncle Bobby—just their wits and their nerve. It sends Dean’s heart soaring, even though he and Sammy are being escorted back to their house by a woman in a fuzzy blue bathrobe, because they fucking got rid of a ghost and that is _awesome_.

It’s distinctly less awesome, however, when Dean unlocks the front door just in time for the Impala to pull up into the driveway.

Dean tries to get in the door before dad can see them, or Mrs. Novak, but that’s no use. Even if they could have snuck back inside, Mrs. Novak is driven by manners and good ol’ fashioned hospitality, and approaches the dirty, beat up John Winchester.

“Shit, get inside, Sammy,” Dean says, only to have Sam roll his eyes.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he replies, “Plus, I kinda wanna see what happens.”

Dean gives him a look, “You’re sick, you know that?”

Sam shrugs.

“Mr. Winchester, I don’t know if you remember me, I’m Castiel’s mother, we live across the street,” she sticks out a hand. John turns a confused stare first upon her hand, and then upon her.

Yeah, Dean can’t take this. He opens the door and closes himself up inside, looking around for Castiel’s things so that he can get his mom out of here without any trouble.

The front door swings open, Mrs. Novak in mid-sentence, “—just wanted you to know that we can’t have Dean over anymore.”

Shit.

Dad drops his bag, and turns his attention to Dean.

“What the hell did you do?”

“I didn’t,” Dean shakes his head, and turns wide-eyed to Mrs. Novak. Thankfully, she catches on quickly and jumps to explain.

“We have a cat,” she—holy shit. “She just had a litter of kittens. We don’t have any homes for them yet. And Dean is allergic. Right?”

Dean’s eyes go big, because he’s pretty sure he’s never told Mrs. Novak about that. He thinks he’s only told Castiel.

That means Castiel talks about Dean to his mom.

“Yeah,” Dean nods and hands off Castiel’s backpack to Mrs. Novak. “Tell him thanks. And, uh. Thank you.”

She takes Cas’ backpack with a soft smile on her face. “You’re welcome,” she nods. “I’m sorry for bombarding you as soon as you got home, Mr. Winchester. I’ll be seeing you around.”

She bows out not a moment too soon.

“What the hell is she talking about, Dean?” dad demands.

“It’s nothing!” Dean defends. “It’s—they had a ghost.”

Dad’s eyebrows go up in surprise for all of two seconds before they furrow.

“What?” Dean shrugs. “We took care of it.”

“Not well enough, obviously, if you’ve got her lying about it,” dad snipes back. 

“Dad, we got rid of a ghost,” says Sam. “All on our own.”

“Oh, and let’s not forget that you got Sam involved,” dad continues. He disappears into the kitchen for a minute and returns with at least three fingers of whiskey in a clear, clean tumbler. “And no doubt you got those damn kids involved too.”

“Look, just because Dean did something without you and actually succeeded—“

“Sam, go to your room.”

Sam’s eyes widen and his brows crunch, “No, dad. I’m not gonna leave Dean down here to get beat up on when he’s the one who helped that family get rid of a ghost. He kept it so under control Mr. and Mrs. Novak didn’t even know they were being haunted, okay? Dean thought there was something weird going on, he investigated, and he took care of it. He helped people. Isn’t that what you tell us to do?”

Dad’s eyebrows fall into a firm line. Sam’s always been the back talker—the conflict that comes with it has always been too much for Dean to handle. He just wants everyone to be okay, to not be upset. The way he can do that is by biting back and taking whatever dad wants to throw at him.

Sam is so much braver than he is.

“You want a pat on the head and a gold star?” asks dad. “Well, good for you. Congratulations on taking on a case that you should have been able to handle flawlessly a year ago.”

“That’s not what I meant!” Sam snaps.

“He’s supposed to get praise for doing what he’s supposed to be doing in the first place?” dad shouts. “Good job, Dean, way to shoot for the middle. It’s great to know that you tackled a job with the same tenacity and determination as you did high school.”

“Fuck off!” Dean finally shouts, silencing both dad and Sam. “Fuck you, and you know what? Fuck you.”

“Me?” Sam asks. “What did I do?”

“Quit stirring the pot!” Dean exclaims, and then turns to dad. “I did a good thing. And yeah, maybe I’m not some kinda Einstein, but I get shit done.”

“Well, you just got your shit done right out of this house,” says dad. “Pack your stuff, ‘cause we’re hitting the road in the morning.”

“What!?”

“Dad, no!”

“It’s too risky to stay here now,” dad shakes his head. “Mr. A for Effort blew our cover.”

Every single word hits Dean like a fist to the gut. All he wants to do is curl up into a ball and catch his breath before he goes in for another round, but dad won’t let up.

“Dad, I’m about to take my standardized tests,” says Sam. “And Mrs. Johnson already said she’d write a letter of recommendation for me to get into her advanced science class next year.”

 _Nerd_.

Dad looks at Sam with that expressionless face and tips back at least half of his beer.

“You’ll take your tests somewhere else,” he shrugs then.

“No,” Sam says. “No, I won’t. I’m taking them here. And I’m staying here.”

“You’ll go where I tell you,” dad’s voice crescendos, and Dean moves quickly to stand in front of Sam.

“I’m warning you two,” dad drops his voice.

“Until Sam finishes middle school,” Dean suggests. “Then we can go.”

“That’s a whole ‘nother year, Dean,” dad tries to get them to see reason. “We’re supposed to let people die just because Sam wants to finish school? Obviously you boys still need some setting straight with your priorities.”

“No one has to die,” Dean says. “You hunt. I’ll take care of Sam. It’ll be like always, except Sam and I will just stay in one place.”

John narrows his eyes, studying Dean carefully.

“Dad, c’mon,” Dean pleads. “I’ll get another job. I’ll take care of him, just let us—let him finish school. Please.”

It’s the longest John Winchester has ever taken to consider anything that’s come out of Dean’s mouth. He finishes off the last of his beer and holds up a finger.

“One fuck up, and you’re on the road with me again,” he says. “Understand?”

“Yessir,” Sam and Dean both nod.

“Up to bed,” dad dismisses them, and Sam and Dean do as they’re told.

As soon as the door shuts, Sam jumps up and wraps his arms around Dean’s neck.

“You get to stay with Cas now,” he says.

Dean smiles and hugs him back, “And you get to stay with me.”

“And I don’t care what dad says,” Sam sniffs. “ _I’m_ proud of you.”

Dean says nothing back, just hugs his baby brother even tighter.

* * *

Castiel thinks mom might know that he’s not staying after school to be tutored for AP Biology, but if she does, she doesn’t say anything. She even pretends not to notice when Gabriel says, “He’s gotta get that D into an A soon” and outright leaves the room when Castiel socks him on the shoulder.

It’s hard to care when he gets to sit out here, though. There’s a park down the street from school, and for an hour every Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday, Castiel gets to lie out on the grass with Dean Winchester.

“You doing anything for Gabe’s birthday?” asks Dean.

Castiel yawns and adjusts where he has his head pillowed against Dean’s tummy. He could care less about the stares from the park’s other visitors; any time he can be close to Dean, just share the same quiet space with him, is more than enough to keep him content.

“Mom is making dinner,” he says. “He made his own cake.”

“Weirdo,” Dean chuckles. “Blows that me’n’ Sammy can’t be there.”

“Considering my father might stab you if you’re within ten feet of me?” Castiel looks up at Dean, his head pillowed on his arms. He looks about as comfy and content as Cas feels. More than anything, he’d really like to roll over and kiss Dean right now, but knowing some of the people around here, that might get them both shot.

He sits up and studies his fingers in his lap, until Dean rights himself too and scoots close to him.

“What’s up?”

“Nothing,” Castiel shakes his head. “I like being here with you, is all.”

Dean’s lips quirk into a smile. “Yeah?”

Castiel nods and picks a blade of grass off of Dean’s knee.

“You, uh,” Dean clears his throat. “You wanna come back to my house?”

Castiel glances up at him, unable to resist those damn Disney princess eyes. He lets out a sigh and then nods his assent.

What’s left of Dean’s spending money went in to purchasing a beat up Dodge that is, frankly, a lot more trouble than it’s worth, if Castiel has anything to say about it. It’s Dean’s car, though, and if it makes him happy, then Castiel is happy.

They drive back to their street in relative silence, just jamming along to one of Dean’s tapes and occasionally reaching over to poke and prod each other into laughter.

Sam isn’t home, and neither is Mr. Winchester, Castiel discovers as Dean pulls him inside and into a kiss. When Dean doesn’t let go right away, Castiel’s gut runs gooey and his heart speeds up. He loves knowing that Dean would never let him go if he had his way, because sometimes, when he’s bored in class or trying to fall asleep, Castiel has that exact same thought about Dean.

If he could help it, he would be with Dean always.

“Hang on,” Dean murmurs when he finally pulls away. Another peck on the lips and, “I have something for you, hang tight.”

Castiel’s smile is too big for his face. He lets out a contented sigh and flops back onto the couch, losing himself in the warmth that floods out of his chest and into his extremities. 

Seconds pass, maybe minutes too. All Castiel knows is that the next time he opens his eyes, there’s a guitar sitting beside him on the couch, and Dean trying his best not to look bashful. Immediately, Cas springs to his feet and gives Dean a look.

“Dean, what is this?”

“Uh,” Dean grabs the back of his neck. “I figured you needed a new one. Since we kinda had to sacrifice your last one.”

“But Dean, it’s—“ it’s one of the most beautiful instruments he’s ever seen. Rich, deep blue and black, something that’s so absolutely _his_ that he can barely find it in him to say “Thank you.”

“And, uh,” Dean picks it up. “It’s acoustic and electric. Y’know, in case you ever wanna get an amp and become a rockstar.”

Castiel takes the guitar ever so gingerly and holds it in his hands. It’s light, and it’s different, but it’s his.

“I don’t know that I’d want to risk you coming in your pants again,” Castiel finally teases back, and Dean lets out a laugh.

“Man, that was like months ago,” he groans, unable to keep the smile off of his face. “Gimme a break.”

Castiel smiles and plucks at the low E string.

Oh, that is hideously out of tune.

“Hang on,” Castiel takes the guitar over to the piano and works his way through tightening and loosening the strings until it sounds just right. When he strums an F chord, it comes out bright and happy, and it makes Castiel grin.

So, he keeps along, fingers flying over the neck and frets in one of the songs he learned out of Mary Winchester’s old Beatles songbook. It’s only been a week, but he’s missed playing. It’s hard not to miss something you’ve done practically every day for so long, when suddenly you can’t have it anymore.

“Is that,” Dean’s voice scratches. “Is that _Hey Jude_?”

“It is,” Castiel nods, not taking a break from his playing. “I like most of those songs in your mom’s old Beatles anthology, but I’m particularly fond of this one.”

In another moment, Dean’s hands are on his cheeks and his lips are on his. That puts a damper on his playing, but okay, it’s hard to care when Dean kisses him like this.

“I love you, Cas,” Dean breathes against him. “I love you so friggin’ much.”

Warmth blooms in Castiel’s core and sends a surge of happiness through every last one of his nerves. He sets the guitar down on the couch, careful to make sure it’s fully balanced, and returns to kiss Dean again.

“I love you too,” is what Castiel wants to say, but for a while it can only come out in kisses. He kisses over every single part of Dean that he never wants to forget, and then there’s a sudden ache when he realizes that, wow, he might actually forget.

Dean has said it time and time again that the nature of his family’s life is primarily nomadic. Not that he wants to put a damper on the moment, but it does give him enough pause to pull back and ask, “You’re not leaving me yet, are you?”

“Huh?”

“Because that would be rude,” says Castiel. “I find out you love me and then two weeks later you’re on the road again.”

“Oh,” Dean nods. “Uh, I kinda didn’t know how to tell you. Me’n Sammy, we’re staying.”

“You’re _what_?”

“Until Sammy’s done with middle school, yeah,” Dean nods, relief flooding his face.

“Jackass!”

“Ow!” Dean grabs where Castiel socked him.

“That wasn’t hard,” Castiel frowns.

“Yeah, but it was still a surprise,” Dean grumbles. “One second you’re all kissy face and the next you turn into Million Dollar Baby? Uncool.”

“You’re the one who decided not to tell me you’re staying,” says Castiel. At least for now.

“Sorry!” Dean lets out a laugh, nervous.

“Shut up,” Castiel rolls his eyes and pulls him into another kiss. He holds Dean so tightly that he might never let go.

And for now, he doesn’t have to.

**oo**

Numeric candles reading ‘18’ burn bright in the otherwise darkened kitchen, illuminating Gabriel’s face. He’d asked everyone not to make a big deal about today, but he’s made an exception for the candles. No matter what he says, he’s proud of being an adult now.

Castiel is proud of him too.

Gabriel blows out the candles and mom dishes up the cake and ice cream for everyone. Anna has to balance her plate on her cast, which now has the names of just about everyone she knows scrawled into it, while mom gushes over Gabriel’s culinary prowess.

Even dad admits that the cake is exquisite, which makes Gabriel beam brighter than any beacon ever could.

“So,” Castiel drapes an arm around Gabriel’s shoulder. They park themselves out on the back porch and look up at the fading light in the sky. “How does it feel, being eighteen?”

“Like sweet, sweet freedom,” Gabriel replies. “I’m kidding, it feels exactly the same.” 

Castiel snorts and rests his head against Gabriel’s. It’s quiet without Lucifer here with them. Funny, Castiel never realized just how present Lucifer was, even when they couldn’t see him, until he was gone.

“You ever think he woulda made it?” asks Gabriel. “If he hadn’t fucked up that night.”

Castiel draws a breath and swallows the knot in his throat.

“I think he would’ve found some other way,” he says. “I don’t think he wanted to grow up.”

“Not that I blame him,” Gabriel sighs back. “Growing up is for squares. I do have one thing I wanna do, though. C’mon.”

Gabriel stands just as Castiel is getting settled into his seat, but he follows anyway. Out of his backpack by the door, Gabriel pulls Lucifer’s last school picture, removed from the display by the door not long after he’d died.

“Figured he was pissed because we were ignoring him,” says Gabe as he rearranges the pictures so that Lucifer’s blends in with everyone else’s. Michael, Lucifer, Raphael, Gabriel, Castiel, and Anna, all together again.

Gone, but not forgotten.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Title of the story is from If You Want to Sing Out, by Cat Stevens


End file.
